


Among the Wildflowers

by kayoedk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Homosexuality, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Molestation, Murder, Physical Abuse, Sexual Violence, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayoedk/pseuds/kayoedk
Summary: 1928. New York City. Levi Ackerman, a French immigrant, is employed at the residence of renowned doctor, Grisha Jaeger, along with his wife and son. Having grown up in the overcrowded tenements of the Lower East Side, Levi sees their extravagant world as a far-removed façade, but servitude offers a unique and sometimes intimate closeness. When the curtain falls and shrouds the stage lights, only they remain; dusting drapes, changing sheets, cooking meals and safeguarding ghastly secrets.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Eren Yeager, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss & Eren Yeager, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Levi/Eren Yeager, Levi/Erwin Smith, Petra Ral/Erwin Smith, Reiner Braun/Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss
Comments: 92
Kudos: 127





	1. Soiree

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started and then abandoned pre-season 4. I'm not a manga reader, either, so any AOT characters or phenomenon introduced post-season 3 I don't know anything about and unfortunately won't be added to this story. But we're still gonna have a good time.
> 
> And hopefully someone likes this.

-

Upper East Side, Manhattan

September, 1928

-

Carla Jaeger would forever love the sound of her heels _clack-clack-clack_ ing along polished wood floors and feeling how the jewels of her dress swayed along with her bodice as she sashayed through the dining room of her modish estate. Especially so, when there were guests around to admire her. She waved gaily at them, accompanied with a smile and a light peck on the cheek, and thanked them for coming before she stepped through the grande french doors that led to the quaint courtyard out back, where the atmosphere was alive with conversation, sprinkled with the faint sound of music coming from indoors and the warm embrace of a fresh summer evening. Carla took a deep breath, her soul awakened, and approached her husband, Grisha, who was a rather plain-looking fellow in his dinner tails, even more so when standing next to the extravagance of his wife.

As Carla approached, Grisha was locked in even plainer conversation with the commissioner, Dot Pixis, and his wife, Elizabeth. Carla noticed how the commissioner stared at her just a little too attentively and although she found Dot to be an uncouth old fool, she relished in the admiration all the same.

"My god, Carla," he called after her. "You are a vision in that dress."

The dress came earlier that week from a Parisian designer who she heard frequently rubbed shoulders with Pablo Picasso, a fact she casually mentioned as she showed off the red silhouette, decorated with rubies and fashioned with a plunging open back. It undoubtedly complimented her sun-kissed skin tone, a gift she inherited from her great-grandmother who was supposedly Cherokee Indian.

"Or was she Blackfoot?" Carla pondered out loud before motioning her hand flippantly. "Either way she'd be very disappointed with me breeding with a German" she said, touching Grisha's arm affectionately.

Grisha Jaeger, being a private man almost to a fault, turned as red as Carla's dress at the brief and casual hinting of their intimate life. Carla was not only known for her taste in finer luxuries, but her loose and brazen lip which never failed to embarrass her husband.

Dot and Elizabeth laughed good-naturedly nonetheless.

"Why, speaking of breeding," Dot started, surveying the yard and the guests that loitered about it, "where is that son of yours?"

Carla, momentarily taken out of her bliss, also began looking about. As her eyes scanned the outside party, she spotted young Historia Reiss, idle and alone next to her mother and father, Alma and Rod Reiss. Annoyance prickled her mind at the sight and it flashed in her eyes fleetingly before she composed herself, standing a bit straighter than before.

"Great question. Will you excuse me?"

Carla's heels once again _clack-clack-clack_ ed across the courtyard pavement and her jewels bounced along with her hips, but there was a degree of irritation in the rhythm. A disruption of joy. Through the french doors she went, entering the dining room and veering off to the left, where she pushed her way into the sweltering, crowded chaos of the kitchen.

All of the staff froze in their duties and stood at attention at the sudden appearance of their ladyship. The sudden halt in action caused someone somewhere in the room to drop an empty pot and everyone listened as it rolled across the floor while waiting for Carla to speak. Her glorious facade seemed to evaporate in the hot kitchen air and she emerged a mother in disarray over her son's absence.

"Has anyone seen Eren?" she asked firmly, glancing between staff members. A prolonged moment of silence followed, causing her voice to surge in anger and urgency. "Anyone at all?"

In an act of kindness to rescue everyone from Carla Jaeger's untold fury, the head chef, Nanaba, stepped forward. Blonde hair and ivory skin wet from sweat but undeniably still a very handsome young man. Many of the wives tonight, as any other night, had come for the chance to taste Nanaba's cooking which had been made famous in Manhattan half by his extraordinary talent and the other half from his strange, almost feminine beauty. To enjoy his food neared a sexual experience for some.

_If only they knew he was actually a woman_ , Carla subconsciously mused.

"No, madame," Nanaba said in a heavy French accent, "we have not seen monsieur Jaeger."

Carla seemed to soften at the calmness of Nanaba's voice, but was still very clearly experiencing contempt for her missing son.

"That boy will put his father and I both in an early grave and won't feel one shred of remorse for it," she spoke this mostly to herself as the kitchen staff and footmen awaited the order to return to their duties.

She sighed. "When should I start ushering the party towards the dinner table?"

"At half past 7, madame," Nanaba answered.

"I will have you know that the Commissioner and his wife are in attendance tonight, so please make sure that his food is plated with extra care or he may arrest us all."

At that, Carla plucked a glass of champagne off a footman's tray and exited the kitchen. When the swinging door finally came to a stop, life behind the scenes resumed and Nanaba continued to whip her mashed potatoes until they were airy and light, speaking to Levi in French.

"What do I care about the goddamn Commissioner and his fat, hideous wife?"

Levi, concentrated on filling tarts with sweet vanilla custard, responded in French as well, isolating the rest of the kitchen from the conversation since they either didn't speak the language or hardly knew it enough to pick up more than a word or two per sentence.

"I heard he was in a car accident recently with a woman who wasn't his fat, hideous wife," Levi said boredly, as he did with almost any subject, as everything failed to rouse him to any great excitement.

"Said the woman was a daughter of a nameless friend who was visiting from Chicago," he continued, "but everyone knows it was one of the workers from the Plaza."

Nanaba smirked down at her mashed potatoes. "That's quite indecent of you to eavesdrop."

"What else am I supposed to do while I watch these jewelled pigs eat supper?"

Levi walked away from the tarts momentarily to check on the duck roasting in the oven. When opening the oven door, Levi was welcomed with a blast of heat that made him turn his head away and blink away tears from his eyes before returning to prep the main course. With towels in both hands, Levi carefully pulled the cast iron pot out of the oven and sat it on top of the stove where he removed the lid and basted the animal with the stock it had been bathing in for several hours. The duck was simply seasoned with a mixture of garlic, butter, and rosemary. To tamper any further with the natural flavor of the meat would be a disservice. As long as it baked at the right temperature for the correct amount of time, the duck will effortlessly melt in the mouths of all who tasted it. Another fifteen minutes should do.

As Levi placed the pot back into the oven, the outside door that led out to the servant's quarters slammed open with a reckless force. In came the young master of the house, Eren, accompanied by his friends, Jean and Armin. Upon looking at them, Levi could see immediately that Eren and Jean were deep in drink before arriving. Armin, unsurprisingly to his character, was not.

Again, the kitchen was obligated to come to a halt.

Eren waved them to continue on with their tasks with one free hand while the other dangled from an arm that was leisurely resting across Jean's shoulders.

"Smells like a feast," the young master exclaimed, voice and body exuberating alcohol. He passed in front of Nanaba where he helped himself to a spoonful of her mashed potatoes. Groaning in delight, he placed the spoon back on the counter.

"You have outdone yourself again, Nanaba. Tres magnifique!" Eren kissed his fingers and stumbled. Jean awkwardly corrected their balance and they both bursted with laughter, ungracefully making their way out of the kitchen with Armin in tow. The staff reacted mildly to the incident, if hardly at all. An inebriated Eren was not a foreign sight in the Jaeger household.

However, irritation overcame Nanaba and she picked up the spoon and hurled it towards the dining room door that Eren had left through, yelling French profanities that Levi would hardly say to a common whore.

-

The Reiss family had come quite a way from North Shore to attend Carla's party as part of the ongoing attempts to present Historia as a potential partner for Eren. Alma was not one for festivities - or any human interactions, really - from the sour expression that was constantly twisted on her face and her contemplative silence, only broken if spoken to. Rod, contrastly, was a man who frequently fussed over his own accomplishments like a hound drooling over its bone. Their daughter Historia was a sweet enough girl but lacked the essential social rapport that a girl of her age and beauty should have. Clearly no thanks to her parents. Carla knew she would have to entertain the Reiss family until her son decided to make an appearance, lest the family chase away the rest of her guests with their poor manners or they decided to retire for the evening prematurely. Carla downed her champagne at the thought and took another glass from a passing footman to hold for safekeeping.

Fortunately, she did not have to suffer any kind of interaction with the Reiss's because like an ill-answered prayer, Eren appeared out of the kitchen with Jean and Armin, who Carla did not say he could invite. Well, she thought, Armin was well enough but Jean was boorish and a scoundrel. Certainly not welcomed at the present moment but not the place to make a scene about it either. Carla approached the boys in haste, her voice as hot as the duck roasting in the oven.

"Where on earth have you been?"

His mother's voice rang and echoed in his ears like the sound of a gunshot piercing through a misty wood. Eren tried to blink his drunkenness away and compose himself by standing up on his own without the help of Jean.

"At the Palladium," he tried to say matter-of-factly. "They had the most terrific Latin dancers there, mother. You should have seen-"

"You're drunk," Carla interjected, horrified, looking at the three of them. "All of you are out of your wits!"

Jean chuckled. "Not Armin."

"Of course not Armin - look at him! How a sweet boy is friends with the two of you is beyond reason." Carla took a step towards Eren, speaking lowly, "For God's sake, get ahold of yourself. Do you have any idea how many people are here tonight?"

"No," Eren replied.

Forgetting herself, Carla slapped Eren in the face. Her eyes immediately widened at her own reaction, fearful she had accidentally brought unwanted attention to herself. Thankfully, most of her guests had moved to the courtyard outside in search of a more freeing ambience. The action had forced her anger to recede quickly but she did manage some parting words for Eren as he stood stupidly before her, rubbing his cheek.

"Historia and her family are here and she has been waiting for you for an hour. Now act like a gentleman and go speak to her before any redeeming qualities about you are lost to her forever."

Eren watched as his mother retreated back to the party and resume conversation with trained elegance, as if she had not just raised her hand to him. Pretending was truly Carla's one and only talent, he observed, before apologizing to his friends and going off to find Historia Reiss, knowing a second round of wrath from his mother could mean the end of his life on earth.

Finding Historia was an easy feat for Eren even in his current state. His unsteady gaze found her towards the back corner of the yard, sitting alone on a bench by the gate that wrapped around the entire property of their estate. As Eren approached her, he thought about how Historia's existence was contradictory. Her beauty made her shine in a crowd like gold in a freshwater river. Her hair was the color of wheat fields and her skin fair as winter snow, untouched and likely as soft as the day she was born because with Rod Reiss as a father, she hadn't experienced an ounce of struggle her whole life. Any man would be lucky to have the pleasure of simply staring at her until he died. In spite of this, Historia often looked lost and empty and her personality suffered from the same ailment. Despite her porcelain features, Eren couldn't help but want to escape her whenever they were forced together. However, he was often reminded how a man would be a fool to push her away even if their time together would be forever dull and unexciting.

So, he sat down next to her and tried to act sober until dinner was announced.

-

About twenty minutes later a footman informed Carla that Nanaba was ready to serve the guests. Carla then coaxed her party into the dining room where they were guided to their assigned seats, meticulously thought out by Carla herself days beforehand. In the kitchen, Levi and several others of the kitchen assisted Nanaba in traying up the first course: oysters cooked in parsley and butter which was to be served with a crisp, dry white wine. Once plated to perfection, everyone but Nanaba wheeled the appetizers out. Four carts of ten plates each. One stationed in each corner of the room, awaiting the head chef to come out and announce the first item of pleasure.

When Nanaba presented herself before the guests and began speaking about the vision for tonight's culinary assortment in broken English, every woman in the room hung onto her words as if they were the last life vessel to leave a sinking ship. All of them falsely under the assumption that Nanaba might find them later when their husbands were whirling in their scotch and whiskies.

The notion made Levi glance over to Erwin Smith who sat beside his wife, Petra. Unarguably the most handsome couple in the room. Erwin was unusually tall and built for a man of money, which caused women to stare at him in a similar fashion to how they do with Nanaba. Petra was a petite woman with dainty features but her eyes were carved from the coldest stone in Russia where, incidentally, she was born and escaped the revolution. Erwin's marriage to her raised questions, but he was from new money and The Great War had helped to erase a lot of traditionalism, so most internalized their judgement. Levi hadn't realized how intently he'd been staring until Erwin met his sideward gaze, the lightest of smiles gracing his lips.

Levi looked away.

Suddenly, the room erupted with clapping. Nanaba had finished her winded story about wanting to harmonize the taste of authentic Parisian cuisine and old-fashioned countryside cooking, bringing both into a meal that broadened their ideas of French culture. Nanaba had never been to Paris but it impressed Americans to think that she had studied there. When the clapping died out, the signal was given to the footmen to start passing around the oysters, which were picked from their trays and placed in front of guests in graceful, well-trained motions. Once this was done, Nanaba kissed her fingers and said "Bon appetit" and the clatter of silverware and murmured chatter commenced.

This process repeated itself for two more courses for the Duck a l'Orange and the vanilla custard tarts. During it all, Levi found distraction in surveying the party, all herded and packed into one room looking like prized farm animals. He watched how they all interacted with each other. Body language, conversational tones. On this side of the world, Levi played this as a little game. On the other side, in the underbelly, he used it for survival.

His wandering eyes were first drawn to Eren, the young master of the house, if he could be called as such. Spoiled, insufferable, and currently forcing conversation with Historia Reiss, the empty-headed girl with one of the wealthiest fathers in New York. Quite the match. Procuring such a lucrative marriage would secure the Jaeger family's social standing, possibly even raise it. Afterall, Grisha was just a doctor. Not that Grisha minded his work. Quite the contrary, he was consumed by it and the pursuit of knowledge. A true modern Socrates, making him one of the best doctors in the city. This mattered not to Carla who probably once found Grisha charming and exciting, but age had tamed his soul while failing to quell her own. Most often she found Grisha horribly boring and often left him behind in social situations - as she did now at the dinner table and as she had the entire night. On the surface, Grisha didn't seem to mind but Levi could see it brewing behind his eyes. The indignation and the urge to strangle her grew, carrying way more emotion than whatever entered the marriage of Alma and Rod Reiss.

Levi imagined that Alma and Rod only went to bed once to conceive Historia and then never convened again. They arrived at the party together but had hardly so much as glanced at each other since stepping through the front door. They ate next to each other in a tense quiet, only speaking when others reached out for conversation which was mostly directed to Rod and sometimes to Alma as a formality. If someone looked closely enough, they could see Rod trying to catch discreet glimpses at Petra across the table.

With hair threaded like silk, kissed with a peachy hue and cut into a modern, short bob that exposed her pale neck and accentuated her honey gold eyes, Petra truly was a stunning woman. She and Erwin both knew it. Petra was fond of acclaim despite her icy demeanour. Levi could tell by the way she'd sit up straighter, push out her breasts, and elongate the angle of her neck when she saw men looking at her. She liked luring them in only to swat them down like a pestering fly.

Erwin didn't mind so much because his eyes were focused on someone else entirely.

And that's when Levi decided that he'd had enough playing this game.

-

Dinner had come to a comfortable close an hour later and as the plates were gently being cleared away, everyone began to wander about, continuing talks in private while others stayed at the table to smoke. Erwin and Petra were two of those people. Erwin puffed on his rolled cigarette, looking disinterestedly away from his wife, a million miles away.

"When do we leave?" Petra asked him, vexed, with her thick Russian accent.

Erwin exhaled a wave of blue smoke before addressing her.

"You can't expect us to leave right after supper. It's a little unbecoming, don't you think?" he said evenly, easing back into his chair. "We shall stay a bit longer."

"You stay. I go."

Erwin smiled sweetly at Petra, brushing her hair lightly from her cheek. "You would upset me so, my love, if you abandoned me to suffer another moment of Carla Jaeger's brutish chatter." He paused to rub his thumb against her cheekbone.

"Stay with me."

Petra locked eyes with her husband in a brief yet intense battle of will. But, unlike what many thought, she was not entirely made of stone. Feeling Erwin's soft touch on her face caused her to turn away defeated after several moments.

Receiving this answer, Erwin's smile widened.

-

Meanwhile outside, Historia and Eren were strolling the perimeter of the yard. Unfortunately, eating dinner had caused Eren to sober up and he was left to his own devices. A tinge of awkwardness still lingered between the pair but Eren sensed the frozen waters beginning to thaw and thought that perhaps this night wasn't entirely lost. Dare he say that Historia was leading the conversation. Albeit, nervously.

"You should come visit our estate in North Shore."

Eren was taken aback by the gesture but responded earnestly. "I would like nothing more. I attended a party hosted by an acquaintance of mine from Princeton not too long ago. His family also lives in North Shore. The homes are spectacular sights to behold."

Historia nodded and smiled, the two things she excelled at. "Yes, they are quite lovely," she agreed, followed by a pregnant pause as she struggled for some words - any words. In a panic, she landed clumsily and hurriedly on, "Weliverightonthewater."

"Ah."

"S-Sometimes," she started unsurely, then worked her way into a small story, "father takes his golf balls and clubs out onto the beach and practices his swing. As a child I would watch each ball as it soared into the sky and dropped into the water, so tiny I could barely see it. When I attempted it, the balls merely skipped across the shore like pebbles."

"Perhaps," Eren mused, "I could help you correct your golf swing when I come to visit."

The hint of flirtation was not missed by Historia and her face reddened, partly embarrassed and, admittedly, partly amused somewhere deep inside.

"Yes, that would be nice."

-

As the evening progressed and the night chill set in, people were moved inside where Carla had decided to play some lively jazz music in the living room from their new phonograph. At this hour, many were filled with drink and like any decent party there was no sign of it stopping any time soon. People danced and the buzz of conversation grew more into a roar and laughter rang high in the air. Levi found himself in the chaos making sure the atmosphere was maintained by filling everyone's glasses with champagne. At one point during all the commotion, Carla, being a little too full of champagne herself, beckoned (or realistically, forced) Petra away from her husband by grabbing her up from under the arm and dragging her to the middle of the crowd.

"Petra is a famous ballet dancer, revered by all!" Carla announced to the party, a certain mischief gleaming in her eye. "They say," she droned, enticing interest from every soul in the room, "that the Kaiser himself specifically asked her to perform a show in Berlin and she brought him to tears!"

Impressed noises were made from all who surrounded them. Petra appeared unbothered even when a man shouted "prove it!" from the background and everyone made loud sounds in agreement. Levi almost thought he saw her smile, like it was twitching on the side of her lips.

Petra wasted no time kicking off her heels and handing her purse to Carla like one of the footmen. She stood positioned and poised in front of everyone and the room fell silent in anticipation. Only the sound of jazz could be heard. Every eye watched as Petra slowly raised herself from flat ground to the balls of her feet and to the very tips of her toes. The party-goers almost erupted in praise at this triumph, but Petra wasn't done. Her face relaxed and graceful, she extended her right leg effortlessly up into the air, almost vertically against her body. In the process, her dress lifted and her bare leg was exposed and her undergarments had nearly revealed themselves.

Someone whistled and she allowed herself a faint smile as she brought down her leg just as slowly as she had raised it and returned to flat feet. As a grand finale, she dropped into a split and yawned theatrically. Laughter and cheers ensured, especially from the men.

In the midst of this spectacle, Levi had approached Erwin in his loneliness and filled his glass. When he went to leave, Erwin caught his wrist.

"Servant's quarters," he murmured.

Levi froze for a moment, looking straight ahead.

"I'll get that right away for you, monsieur," he replied and promptly exited the room.

Shortly later, Petra returned to Erwin's company and he greeted her as lovingly as ever.

"You were magnificent as always."

"May I go?" she asked impatiently.

Erwin swirled the liquid in his glass before pouring it down his throat and setting it on a nearby bookshelf.

"I'll ask the driver to start the car."

-

If one followed the back kitchen door to the outside, they would find a modest cottage annexed from the rest of the house and separated from the main courtyard by tall stucco walls. This is where the servant quarters reside, tucked away and hidden in its own world. Inside this cottage is where Levi currently stood. A single candle was lit on the table behind him that provided minimum light but just enough to let someone know he was there. His hands were clammy and he paced slightly, an obvious sign of nerves that he would not admit to feeling. It felt like hours until he heard a knock on the door.

The blood pumping in his heart could be heard in his ears like an anxious drum as he opened the door and quickly drew Erwin in.

There was a brief moment where they only looked upon each other and no words needed to be spoken. I miss you, the air whispered on its own, drawing them together at the lips almost violently. They felt each other's bodies in a frantic haste, hands grazing jawlines and caressing hips.

Levi dropped to his knees instantly and started working on releasing Erwin from the confines of his trousers to the welcoming warmth of his mouth. In this manner, he gave Erwin pleasure and listened as his breath quickened with every swallowing motion. It was all so wet and terribly hot that Erwin found himself weak at the knees and had to support himself against the table with the single burning handle, fingers entangling themselves in Levi's black hair. There was something wild, purely animal, and unladylike about watching Levi suck on his cock.

However, there was never enough time to relish. Never enough time to enjoy each other.

Erwin commanded Levi up on his feet and he obeyed wordlessly. Levi was hastily turned around and pressed down onto the table, shirt pushed up his spine to expose his back. Levi worked on freeing himself from his own trousers while Erwin spit saliva into his palm and slapped the moisture firmly between Levi's legs, spreading it around and coating it as generously as possible before thrusting himself inside. A painful cry escaped and pierced through the air. Erwin was always too rough after they had been separated for a while.

Levi's body tensed, causing his thighs to draw together. Quickly they were forced apart and a large hand covered his mouth. Erwin then buried his full erection.

Eventually the pain subsided and a euphoric fever took over like an antidote. The atmosphere thickened with muffled groans, giving encouragement to Erwin to drive himself deeper, harder, again and again until the table scooted forward and the candle tipped over and the holder clattered against the floor, encompassing the couple in darkness with only the blueness of the moon to illuminate their silhouettes. Levi's back muscles tensed, one hand gripping Erwin's forearm while the other pleasured himself. Both of their chests began to tighten in mounting ecstacy.

Levi felt as though the wind was being pulled from his body as he reached climax. The release was sweet, long-awaited, and left a tingling sensation in his legs, and the way he orgasmed with a hitched breath, almost womanly, had Erwin finishing shortly after with a beastly grunt that came from deep in his chest. He caught himself with a shaky hand to keep his body from collapse.

Erwin removed himself quickly after - like a flinch, as if stung. Just as quickly as the passion began it had ended, leaving the pair dressing in silence. The smell of sex lingered in the cottage and was met with an aura that felt a lot like regret and disgust. The combination made for a bad perfume that was making Levi sick and daring.

"When do you expect we'll see each other again?"

"I don't know," Erwin replied without eye contact.

"Is this meant to be our destiny then?"

"What do you mean?"

Levi motioned around the servant's quarters offhandedly.

"This."

Erwin didn't entertain Levi with an answer but instead struggled to adjust his bowtie. Failing, he became uncharacteristically frustrated. In his frustration, Levi's hands became sympathetic and found themselves at his neck and delicately fixed and straightened the fabric, an action he knew how to do well after years in servitude.

"I wish there was more I could offer," Erwin said unexpectedly.

Hands still near Erwin's bowtie, Levi pulled the man close by his collar. "You should get back to your wife," he whispered, taking his lower lip between his teeth.

-

It was late evening when all the company at the Jaeger household departed. Erwin and Petra, as intended, left earlier without much incident. By this time, most of the kitchen staff had left or gone off to bed. All who remained were Nanaba, Levi, and one lone kitchen maid who was washing up the last of the dishes while the two men enjoyed a well-deserved cigarette. Carla eventually stumbled in, quite drunk, thanking the chefs for their hard work and kissed both of their cheeks.

"Levi," Carla called. "Are you going home tonight, love?"

"Yes, madame."

"You know you're welcome to stay here."

"That's very kind of you but I prefer the familiarity of my own bed."

"Well," she sighed, "at least take some leftovers home to your family."

Levi nodded and thanked her kindly. He left the house that night with some potatoes and cooked vegetables and even a little bit of duck that survived. After placing it all in a container and wrapping it tight in a cloth, Levi exited through the back door and found his way to the street where he'd left his bicycle at the beginning of the work day.

Strangely and dreamlike, on the way there, Levi spotted a figure standing across the street, staring rather intently on the house. The figure must have felt Levi's onlooking gaze for they turned and walked the other direction rather hurriedly. Although odd, Levi shrugged off the encounter in his tiredness, mounted his bike, and began his forty-five minute journey home to the Lower East Side.

Levi would compare the experience to Cinderella's splendor melting away when the clock struck midnight. All the grandiose houses dwindled away into tenements and poorly paved streets. Dogs howled in the night. Clothes hung on lines between buildings. The wails of babies could be heard from open windows. The slight stench of shit filled the nostrils.

Levi reached his apartment, a drab brick structure, and carried his bike up the stairs in the dark to his unit that he shared with a steel mill worker, a seamstress, and a young mother and her baby boy. Across the hall he was greeted with the angry sobs of a woman who was suffering another assault from her husband - both immigrants from Sicily.

Levi never knew much Italian but thanks to the couple next door he was certain he knew the word for "cunt".

He pushed open the door and immediately casted his eyes away for Mina was awake and breastfeeding little Thomas by candlelight. Levi mumbled an apology, nearly walking back out into the hallway to give her some privacy.

Mina beckoned him back inside.

"No, it's fine. Please come in."

Levi obliged but kept his head slightly turned. "How long has that been going on?"

It took a second for Mina to understand his meaning. She then let out an exhausted sigh before answering with, "An hour."

The leftovers were set on the kitchen table.

"Help yourself," Levi encouraged, equally exhausted, not even bothering to say a proper goodnight before going off to his bedroom which was already occupied by Eld, the steel mill worker and collapsing in his own bed. There he laid, so drained, that he somehow managed to fall asleep to the chaotic lullaby of Eld's snores and the man next door beating his wife.


	2. And Juliet Is The Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People actually ended up liking the first chapter and it motivated me to put out the second chapter as soon as possible. This is probably the fastest I've cranked out a new chapter. So, thank you everyone for you appreciation. It accomplishes things.

-

Port of Le Havre, France

May, 1903

-

Before that day, Levi, barely the age of six, had never been more than two miles outside of his village of Riquewihr. Only three hundred souls populated the commune and called it a home and it was the only world he had ever known. Now, he found himself on the other side of the country without his mother, besieged by a hoard of thousands of unfamiliar faces bustling this way and that. Fathers shouting and cursing as they rounded up their wives and children, all carrying heavy trunks containing what small treasures they could fit inside and the sailors would take those treasures and stow them away under the ship where they wouldn’t be seen again until they had crossed the British Channel to Southampton and then beyond to the Atlantic.

Levi imagined when those families relinquished those priceless treasure chests, housing generational momentos, photographs, dolls, jewelry and the like, they felt the same emotion that he felt at port that day.

Fear of the unknown.

Levi squeezed Kenny’s hand tight as they stood in line with their tickets to board. He wanted nothing more than to go home. Not to this new one, not to this unknown, but to the old one where he played off in the wildflower fields while his mother picked fresh tomatoes from their garden. She would always laugh at the way Levi would run to take one from her basket and bite into it like an apple. Levi could hear her voice saying-

“Listen closely, child,” Kenny called suddenly from above and Levi turned his head up to listen. “On the other side of that horizon is freedom and this vessel-” Levi’s gaze followed his uncle’s finger as he pointed to the ship that loomed overtop of them like a maritime Mount Olympus, “-is what’s going to get us there.”

“Like Mr. Noah and the Ark?” the boy asked timidly, searching for some kind of solace.

Kenny nodded, “Yes, just like Mr. Noah and the Ark.”

-

Lower East Side, Manhattan

September, 1928

-

It was an incredible irony that Levi would recall those words as he stood outside in the streets in front of his apartment on an Indian summer morning, barefoot and shirtless, sharing a cigarette and a pail of cold water with Eld, who he only knew out of necessity, as they washed the grime and sweat off their bodies. Nothing but a Frenchman who was no richer than the day he first saw Ellis Island and even more alone.

Kenny’s promises were always empty ones.

After both men were done bathing, they sat on the stoop of their building with towels draped around their shoulders and cups of steaming hot tea in their hands that Sasha, the seamstress, had made on the kettle and brought down to them. Eld and Levi sat in a comfortable silence, sipping on their mugs and watching children from neighboring units come to use the pail to wash their tiny hands and feet. Neither rose until the last of their tea was consumed, a ritual that always seemed to end too soon. It was an unwelcomed reminder that they needed to return upstairs and finish getting ready for another work day.

In their joint bedroom, Eld dressed himself in a thin shirt and breathable pants so that his body wouldn’t burn up in the 125 degree heat of the steel mill. Levi also kept his outfit casual: a white button up with the cuffs rolled up, secured under a vest and tucked into a pair of well-worn trousers. His servant’s uniform he kept in a tied sack. Levi usually arrived home in uniform but he never left in it since it would soil during his daily bike ride on busy streets where automobiles would kick up dirt from the road.

Grabbing the bag, Levi entered the kitchen but did not leave. He often would stay to help ease Mina’s burdens by holding Thomas and bouncing him lightly in his arms to keep the child content as she put on her stockings or fastened her hair into a tight bun or frantically ran about trying find all the belongings that Thomas needed to stay with the local wet nurse while she worked her life away in the textile factories, like hundreds of other mothers

Once confident that she had everything collected, Mina took the child from Levi and thanked him hastily and sincerely before departing out the door and down the stairs.

It was then that Levi could mount his bike and ride north to the market. Nanaba has entrusted him the night before to gather the ingredients needed to make a glazed salmon and couscous for dinner.

The market was a halfway point between Levi’s place of residence and the Jaeger household. Upon arrival, he was curtly greeted by Mike Zacharius, the family’s personal driver. The two found themselves to be good friends while on the job and Mike would frequently go shopping with Levi before his presence was required at the estate as a way to break his mundane routine of playing chariot. Also, he had a peculiar talent for smelling the freshness of food. With such a keen nose, Levi often used him to help pinpoint which cuts of meat were the best.

They meandered among the stands and speculated the items for sale until Levi spotted a promising specimen of salmon and requested the merchant to hold the fish up while he examined and asked all the right questions a chef should when wanting to prepare the perfect fish supper. The gills looked clean and the body looked firm. Good weight, too. Levi also inquired when the fish was caught and the merchant responded that all the fish had been caught and brought in just this morning.

As a last act of good measure, Mike sniffed the salmon, earning a quizzical raised eyebrow from the fish stand owner. Mike grunted in approval. Satisfied, Levi gave the fish back to be wrapped in paper. He paid 15 cents for it. Moving on, he ventured over to the grains to get a bag of couscous - something he did not need Mike’s nose for - and finally finished at the vegetables, deciding that roasted asparagus would pair well with the items already selected for the menu.

As Levi picked up a bundle of asparagus, he caught sight of a ghost out of the corner of his eye: a woman with stark black hair that flowed freely at her shoulders, her face hidden by her cloche hat. Levi felt her pass behind him and he turned his body around swiftly to meet her.

“Mikasa?”

The name left his lips as a gasp. He spoke it like some ancient, long-forgotten memory. When his eyes fell upon the woman, physical and real, he instantly realized that she wasn’t who he had anticipated. Instead, he had only succeeded in startling a stranger to which he mumbled an apology and returned to his asparagus, feeling utterly foolish.

Mike approached Levi, looking towards the woman as she walked away.

“You know her?” he asked.

“No,” Levi replied distantly.

-

Eren was submerged in a deep and dreamless sleep, cradled in threaded linens and a thick bedcover, when he was roused to consciousness by the sound of housemaids entering his bedroom. Moments later, the window curtains were drawn back, allowing in a flood of sunlight that precipitated a dull stabbing sensation behind Eren’s eyes. Groaning, he covered his head with a stray pillow.

“I don’t remember ordering a wake up call,” he said crossly, voice muffled under the fabric.

“A request from her ladyship, sir.”

The voice belonged to Hitch, Carla’s lady maid and one of the veterans of the household. She has been under the Jaegers’ care ever since she was a sixteen-year-old kitchen maid and was only older than Eren by a few months. These circumstances naturally led to them developing a camaraderie for each other that Eren didn’t have with any of the other staff members. The two often spoke very candidly with each other.

“Well could you tell _her ladyship_ that if she wants to command me about then she could at least have the decency to do it herself?”

There was a pause before Hitch responded with, “Her ladyship is feeling unwell today.”

Further explanation wasn’t needed for Eren and he said nothing more as another young maid set a breakfast tray on his bedside table. He peeked his head out from under the pillow to see the alluring sight of over easy eggs, buttered toast, roasted skillet potatoes, and a glass of hand-pressed orange juice. Immediately, he sat upright, causing the bedcover and sheets to fall from his body and pool at his hips, barely concealing his exposed manhood. Sleeping in the nude was a rather liberating activity, Eren thought. He reached out and grabbed the orange juice, desperate for any kind of hydration, and emptied the glass in four large gulps. Removing the rim from his lips and making a satisfied “ah” sound, he glanced over at the maid who had carried the food up from the kitchen and noticed how she was trying to avert her eyes from Eren’s exposed body.

“Excuse me,” he called sweetly and tilted the glass towards her, “would you mind?”

The maid hesitantly approached and extended her hand to take it from his grasp. When she went to pull the glass towards her, the maid was met with a subtle and teasing resistance from Eren. Her face burned a crimson red and once the glass was in her possession, she promptly exited the room.

This exploit earned Eren a slap on the arm from Hitch.

“Must you be so indecent? She just started last week.”

As a retort, Eren discarded the rest of the covers from his waist and jumped out of bed naked as the day he was born. Hitch cupped a hand around her eyes as he walked into the bathroom while using her other one to remove the linens and sheets so they could be washed.

“Your mother-”

“Oh, no more ‘your ladyship’?”

“She also requested,” Hitch continued, “that I ask when you’re planning on visiting Historia Reiss?”

Eren had filled the bathroom sink with cold water and splashed it onto his face, outwardly sighing at the touch. “I planned on seeing her today,” he said finally and then added, “after going to the Yale Club.”

“She will be pleased to hear that.”

“I’m certain she will,” Eren murmured to himself as he dipped his hands back into the water and took care to press it directly against his forehand before running his damp fingers through his hair which had grown rather long since he had returned to New York at the start of the summer after graduating Princeton. He always tied it back into a loose bun so he wouldn’t look so much like his father. Since he was a boy, everyone would comment on how he was a spitting image of Carla and he could discern from their tones that it was both a compliment and a relief.

Grisha would then affirm that Eren and Carla were alike in more than simply looks but in brashness as well and it took very little reasoning skills to deduce that he did not mean it as a light-hearted observation.

After pulling his hair back, Eren drained the sink and walked out of the bathroom, moving onto different matters. “Hitch, my fashion sense eludes me today. What do you suggest I-”

At that moment, the maid who had gone downstairs to refill the orange juice returned where she was greeted by Eren’s member hanging between his legs. The sight stunned her into muteness and the glass slipped from her hand, shattering to pieces on the wood floor. She did not move to clean it up.

“Well, don’t just stand there, girl,” Hitch scolded. “Get a damn mop!”

-

After partaking in his morning charade, Eren got dressed for the Yale Club. Doubtlessly, he surmised, much to the maid’s relief. Hitch did well in selecting a stylish light grey ensemble. Complete with pressed pants, a vest, and a suit jacket with a starched white dress shirt underneath to offset the grey. Lastly, the outfit was accessorized with a silver pocket watch since Eren wasn’t terribly fond of hats.

Before leaving to meet his friends, Eren made it a point to stop by his father’s study. The door was opened yet he still knocked to indicate his presence. Grisha’s attention was momentarily taken away from the task of putting several journals and textbooks in his briefcase.

“Good morning, son.”

“Good morning.”

“I’m actually glad you stopped by.”

“Oh, I wasn’t staying long. I only wanted to ask if you heard about mother.”

Eren received the answer he was searching for by his father’s unwavering expression but Grisha graced him with a verbal response regardless. “Yes, your mother has unfortunately succumbed to another episode but it’s nothing a small dose of lithium won’t cure.”

Eren nodded, not wanting to discuss anything more about it. Fortunately, Grisha was ready to switch to another subject also.

“So,” he started, “I’ve noticed you’ve been enjoying quite a lot of leisure time since coming home. I wondered maybe when you intended to begin a career path.”

Both the confrontation itself and the nature of which Grisha had brought the confrontation about did not come as a surprise to Eren. His father was a gentle-spoken scholar who rarely lost his temper. A striking contrast to his wife and son. He handled his professional life with order and directiveness, and while some of this pragmatic behavior bled over into his personal affairs, the directive trait seemed to vanish whenever he spoke with his family. Eren concluded long ago that this phenomenon happened because Grisha simply didn’t know how to deal with them.

So, it was only true to his character that he would tell Eren to get a job as evasively as possible.

“I’m actually going to the Reiss estate today,” Eren explained, preparing a shallow lie. “I was thinking as our courtship progresses I could ask her father for work.”

“What about Erwin Smith?”

“We aren’t on familiar terms.”

“I see,” Grisha hummed. “Well, Rod Reiss owns half of Pennsylvania and upstate New York, so I’m sure he’d be able to find you something.” That rationality was enough to temporarily quench his concerns and he closed his briefcase, signaling that the interaction had come to a close.

“House call?” Eren inquired.

“Classes at Columbia. I was offered a small adjunct position for the semester teaching chemistry and anatomy. I have two women in my classes, could you believe it?”

“Suffragettes be praised.”

At that, Grisha patted Eren’s shoulder as a farewell gesture and disappeared down the hallway. Eren looked over at the clock ticking noisily on the wall and knew he should do the same soon, but against his better judgement he decided to inform Carla that he was leaving as well. In a similar fashion to when he appeared before his father’s study, Eren paused and knocked on the door of the master bedroom where he knew his mother would still be in bed. Unlike Grisha’s, the door was shut tight. Eren called to her tenderly.

“Mother?”

Silence.

Alarmed, Eren took it upon himself to enter without an invitation.

“Mom?”

The shape of her body was outlined by the bedcovers. She laid there unmoving except for her slow breathing. Eren advanced towards her as he would if he spotted a scared and wounded animal: steady and delicately. He saw that she was awake and staring listlessly at the filigree wallpaper that adorned the entire room. Leaning down, he gingerly touched her hair.

“Momma, it’s me.”

Her heavy trance broke just enough for her to meet his gaze.

“Oh, darling,” she said with her voice near a whisper. “I didn’t see you come in.”

Eren smiled at her in futile hopes that it would make her happy and began petting her unkempt hair.

“I’m not going to be home for most of the day,” he spoke carefully, “but I’m going to see Historia like you wanted and Hitch is going to check on you to make sure you have everything you need, okay?” When she nodded in understanding, Eren tilted his head and let his brows furrow with worry. “Do you need anything right now?”

Carla took hold of her son’s hand and removed it from her head so that she could keep it in her own, squeezing and kissing it like she did when he was a child. Tears swelled in her eyes.

“You’re such a sweet boy. The greatest gift God ever gave me.”

Eren squeezed her hand in return, feeling sorry that God had given her such a lousy gift.

-

An hour later Eren finally found himself in the vibrant atmosphere of the Yale Club surrounded by friends. The dining room was teeming with conversation and the clattering noise of forks against plates and waiters refilling drinks from crystal pitchers. Halfway through their luncheon, Jean had ordered a round of club sodas and spiked them with vodka that he smuggled in a flask. All participated in the blasphemy - even Armin, although he did it apprehensively. They sipped on their secret concoctions as Jean told some story and puffed on a cigar, encompassing them in a toxic haze.

“-so, I’m telling this wise guy in my office, ‘Look, this infrastructure - it’s all wrong. If you build this piece of shit, it’s gonna subside and eventually collapse. Then my Pa’s gotta write a check to every poor dead bastards’ family for funeral costs and his finger joints swell up to the size of Montana. They’ll fall off faster than every man’s Johnson who has ever humped your mother.’”

A harmony of laughs were earned from the table and Jean took another puff of his cigar before continuing.

“And then after that who happens to walk into the joint but that pompous ass, Erwin Smith, who’s getting a fat finder’s fee for securing a deal between my Pa and the company who supplies steel for Smith & Sons so that this project can get started.”

Armin turned to Eren. “Didn’t Erwin attend your party last weekend?”

He nodded, tracing a finger around his highball glass. “I don’t believe he was keen to the whole ordeal.”

“Well, I’m personally very keen to his wife,” Jean jested and then spoke directly to his acquaintance, Marco Bott, whom he had invited to the luncheon and had done so on previous occasions. “You should have been there, Marco. What an absolute delight.”

“Not to be one for gossip,” Marco made sure to disclaim before engaging in gossip, “but I heard he’s not as infatuated with her as everyone else is.” There was a brief pause. “Or any woman for that matter.”

Speculative eyebrows were raised around the table, compelling Marco to quickly add, “It’s most likely not true, but word around town was that he was seen leaving a molly house last year.”

A leaden silence followed and lingered for a moment or two as they pondered the allegation. Jean was the first to speak up.

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“For someone to make that identification,” Armin went on warily, “it would be an admission on their part that they were in an area that offered such services which could potentially be a jailing offense for the accuser.”

Jean pointed to Armin in definitive agreement. “What Armin said. A tremendously false accusation.” Though, he did allow himself an amused smirk. “However, it would be interesting if that were the case, would it not?”

Erwin Smith’s personal matters triumphed over the conversation and progressed in this manner for a while, mostly carried between Marco and Jean with Armin and Eren peppering in comments when appropriate as to not appear wholly disinterested even though that was the truth of it. Eren wasn’t one for baseless gossip as he thought it to be rather boring and a waste of time. Unfortunately, existing in a society where endless recreation bred this form of entertainment frequently, Eren found himself bored quite often.

That’s why he appreciated the company of his longest and closest friend, Armin Arlet. His grandfather was German-born much like Eren’s own ancestors and had also been a professor at the University of Milan. Armin’s parents were researchers and inventors who arrived in Boston when he was merely an infant. After patenting a few inventions, one including the radio altimeter, Armin’s parents decided to try their luck in New York and that’s when he and Eren were first introduced - when Armin started attending St. Maria’s School for Boys in Chelsea. Both having ground up with parents in the research and science field, Armin and Eren enjoyed talking about philosophy, invention, and travel. These were things Eren dreamed of dedicating his life to but it didn’t align with the vision that was already predetermined for him.

Reversely, Eren and Jean were members of the same fraternity in college and though they intently disliked one another for the first couple months, the pair warmed up to each other in due course, like an old coal fireplace. Jean’s friendship fueled the bolder side of Eren who liked a stiff drink and a good brawl.

Eren had finished his second vodka club soda before glancing outside at the sun and realizing the early afternoon was turning late. He downed what little was left in the glass, swallowing mostly water, before getting up to excuse himself by informing the group that he had engagements with a certain Reiss heiress.

“Off the see the aristocracy?” Jean laughed. He took out a piece of ice from his drink and tossed it at him playfully. “Give our regards to Alma the Ice Queen and her court jester, Rod.”

The corners of Eren’s mouth prickled up at the joke and he said his farewells. He walked out of the dining room and to the front entrance where just outside Mike was waiting in the driver’s seat of the family automobile, thumbing through the daily newspaper. Eren addressed him from the passenger side window, already opened because of the late summer heat, and announced they were departing for North Shore. Mike folded up his newspaper neatly and set it on the floor before moving to get out the vehicle so that he could open the back door. Eren held up his hand, halting the task, and insisted that he could do it himself. So, instead, Mike simply started the engine and waited for Eren to get settled in the back seat before driving off down the busy avenue.

The journey from Manhattan to Long Island took a little over an hour, so Eren had plenty of time to ponder to himself as he watched the skyscrapers, the megaliths of modern American ingenuity and grandiosity, shrink into tiny building blocks from the Queensboro Bridge. They passed through the rail yards and coal fields on the way. The smell of sulfur became thick in Eren’s nostrils and the sounds of hammers hitting steel and whistles blowing off in the distance plagued his thoughts with dismay and the burden of human existence.

While he wasn’t blackening his hands and lungs in the coal mines, Eren could still sympathize through his forced arrangement with Historia how the sense of duty to one’s family and the provocation to do right by them can be strenuous. A ridiculous comparison to be sure, but it was all he had to try and make sense of the world.

Eren’s thoughts also shifted to the institution of marriage and his experiences with it. Of course, he had seen people live married lives but the marriage he was most accustomed to was his parents’.

He nearly scoffed outwardly.

Well, Eren mused, before marriage there must be love present, supposedly. If ever someone asked if he loved Historia the answer would be a resounding no, but he wasn’t even certain if he understood the definition of the word and if he’d even be able to recognize that he was experiencing it when the time came. He wondered then if maybe he had been in love before. His mind reflected on distant memories. Memories of boyhood, of college parties, and the many nights of drunken flirtation that sometimes led to lips brushing against lips. None of them managed to stir up any great emotion.

So, no, it would seem that he had never been in love before.

Eren came to this conclusion as Mike pulled the car into the Reiss’s paved and circular driveway. Erected in the middle of it was a grand marble fountain that showcased a Greecian woman perched upon a rock, holding a jar where water cascaded unabatedly. Surrounding the marble woman and lining the perimeters of the driveway were an array of colorful flowers: roses, azaleas, chrysanthemums, and dahlias. Just to name a few.

The estate was something else else entirely. A massive Georgian mansion that was proportional, balanced, and cut from the strongest stone. Its uniform pillars bore down on anyone who beheld them, reminding onlookers that they were about to enter a world that was old, rigid, and rooted in tradition. Eren’s nerves fluttered about as the car rolled to a stop and Mike circled around to let him out of the back. Upon stepping out of the car, Eren, in an attempt to suppress his trepidation, adjusted his suit and stood straighter than usual.

He climbed up the front stars and approached an ornamental wrought iron door. There he hesitated, a bead of sweat rolling from his temple down to his jaw, before he clenched the bass knocker and rapped it against the door. Shortly after, a rather tall woman with brown hair and dark skin answered the door with an expression that appeared to be void of any happiness.

“May I help you?” she asked almost boredly.

Eren pulled back his shoulders. “Eren Jaeger for Miss Historia Reiss.”

The maid, or what he assumed was their maid, looked over him in unspoken judgement before opening the front door fully.

“She’s been expecting you.”

Moving aside, the maid bowed her head slightly and motioned him inside. Eren tentatively accepted the summons and crossed the threshold into the entryway of the house. The interior was much like the exterior: stone and marble. The floors had a pristine shine and the white walls extended high into the paneled ceiling which was decorated with gold trim. As the maid guided him deeper into the Reiss home, his footsteps echoed as if he were in a museum. The main corridor opened up into a much larger sitting room filled with French salon furniture. The floor-to-ceiling windows directly ahead stood like giants, letting in a constant flow of natural sunlight and providing an incredible view of the lake that Historia had spoken of at the party. It rested calmly and widely beyond, glistening in the daylight.

Historia sat on a provincial sofa in the middle of the room. Her pale skin and blonde hair radiated so remarkably against the backdrop of the water and the sunlight that she could be mistaken for the sun herself. She smiled at her visitor and stood with grace.

Eren might not know love but the scene took his breath away.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Eren.”

As she drew closer, he took her hand in his own, pressing his thumb against her fingers and kissed them politely.

“The pleasure is mine.”

Historia’s smile brightened more at the gesture, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. Eren released her hand and took a step back to admire the room some more.

“I must say your home is very impressive,” he commented rather obviously. It was an idle compliment that Historia had clearly heard in hundreds of other instances for all she could muster was a hum in response. Eren noted this and made no more of gawking at her father’s estate. Instead, he lamely asked if her parents would be joining them today.

Historia shook her head. “Unfortunately, they had to attend an event hosted by my father, so they will be absent until dark.” She stopped, also probing for a more interesting subject to talk about. In her search, she realized that she forgot her manners.

“Oh,” she cried, “would you like to sit down?”

Eren welcomed the suggestion and they both sat on the sofa, one on each end. Historia requested that the maid, whose name apparently was Ymir, go to the kitchen and bring a pitcher of lemonade and a tray of sandwiches. When Ymir left the sitting room, Eren and Historia were left to their own devices but Eren was determined to have as little quiet as possible by beginning small conversations wherever there was an opportunity for one. Begrudgingly, he prattled about the weather and the seasonal drought New York was undergoing. He commented about the view of the lake. He talked about being with Armin, Jean, and Marco at the Yale Club an hour prior, excluding the vulgarity. And, at one point, he joked about his driver’s big nose which made Historia laugh and elevated Eren’s confidence.

It was an improvement to previous interactions but the artificialness remained.

Ymir, as instructed, brought fresh lemonade and cucumber sandwiches sliced into dainty triangles. The chatter stayed trivial but steady as they ate and sipped on their drinks. Once they had cleared the tray and most of the pitcher, there was an awaited anticipation on what was to come next. Surely they weren’t going to make small talk until Eren had to return to the city.

Eren had a potential idea.

“Remember at the party when you were talking about your golf swing?”

“Yes,” Historia replied, a hint of embarrassment in her tone.

“We should go out onto the beach and practice,” Eren insisted. “That would be fun, don’t you think?”

The proposal caused a tension in Historia’s demeanour that Eren didn’t quite comprehend. He noticed how she started fiddling with her hands in her lap as she spoke.

“My father would be very upset if I took his clubs out to the water without his permission…”

Her voice trailed off and Eren, for the second time that day, took the hint that it wasn’t a plan she was fond of and he would have to decide on something else.

“I have a grand idea!” he declared after a couple minutes of pensive silence. Feeling mischievous and excited, Eren stood up rather suddenly. Historia flinched in surprise, eyes wide and confused. Eren reached his arm out to her and beckoned her to follow him. Suspiciously, she obliged and grabbed his hand without blushing. He led her away from the sitting room, back down the main corridor, and out the front door where the warm summer air hugged their skin. Eren then relinquished her hand and proceeded towards his parked car in the driveway, leaving Historia behind on the step

“Eren!” she yelled after him. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t offer a reply but she watched as he went around to the driver’s side window and exchanged words with the driver, the one with the big nose. They were engrossed in a quick discussion and Historia undoubtedly saw Eren slip the driver a dollar bill. Afterwards, the driver exited the vehicle and walked up the stairs past Historia, bowing in the process with a newspaper tucked under his arm before disappearing into her house.

Now she was more confused than ever.

“What is going-”

She was interrupted by the action of Eren opening up the driver’s side door.

“Ever drove a car before?”

Historia’s jaw dropped in shock at the question, apprehending immediately what it implied. “Oh, Eren, no,” she objected fervently, “I couldn’t possibly-”

Eren evidently wasn’t pleased with her answer, for he returned to her on the steps with a broad grin on his face, stealing her hand once again and urging her towards the car.

“Come on, Historia. It’ll be the best time!”

She did a poor job in resisting him and laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. It was real laughter, high and exuberant, and it rang in Eren’s ears like a beautiful song.

“You are absolutely mad!” Historia managed through giggles. “I’m not driving that car!”

-

Ten minutes later Eren and Historia were on a suburban back street where there was little traffic. The heat required Eren to strip off his suit jacket and roll up his shirt cuffs. Currently, he was instructing Historia on how to properly shift into gear.

“Now push down on the clutch. Good, shift the gear. Yes, like that. Now let the clutch out.”

Historia freed the clutch and the car lurched forward aggressively, scaring her out of her wits and she slammed on the breaks. Eren caught himself on the dashboard to keep himself from going through the windshield. Historia put her face in her palms and howled in laughter.

“Oh my goodness, Eren, I’m terrible!”

“No, no, you’re doing fine. Just try again,” he encouraged.

Eren scooted himself closer to her, securing his arm around the back of the seat. He guided her again from beginning to end, pointing as he went. For the fifth time, Historia pushed the clutch, shifted the gear, released and-

The car gently cruised forward and Historia made an incredulous noise and tightened her grip around the steering wheel in elation and fear. Eren sat up in his seat excitedly, smiling wide.

“You did it, Historia!”

It dawned on her that, yes, she had indeed accomplished something. She observed, absorbed, and completed an undertaking that she normally wouldn’t have gotten the chance to learn because it would never be expected of her. Her smile was arguably wider than Eren’s and she beamed with pride, feeling exhilarated for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

She also felt unusually wicked and dangerous and it became palpable in her attitude.

“How do I make it go faster?”

The inquiry initially astonished Eren but he mirrored her enthusiasm all the same. “It’s just as I showed you before.”

Historia, although overcome in her newfound audaciousness, remained mindful of the order needed to safely switch gears. This time, she actually felt the gears catch below her feet. Knowing she had done this feat successfully once again, she pressed her foot down on the gas pedal and the two sped down the road. The wind blew and twisted through the open windows and she was free.

As Historia basked in this moment, Eren perceived how he was staring at her more intently than he ever had before. He remarked inwardly how her blue eyes shimmered like the lake from her sitting room and how her hair danced around her slim face and was long enough to even tickle his cheek.

And he thought, maybe, he could learn to love her.

-

That evening, Carla sat at the dinner table looking half-asleep and uninterested in the glazed salmon that Nanaba had prepared and her husband appeared all the more indifferent to it. Levi was standing in the corner of the room, staring in displeasure at the salmon growing cold as they waited on the young master to return from North Shore.

Grisha cleared his throat and refocused his attention to Carla as if she cared about anything anyone had to say at the moment.

“Perhaps we should start without him-”

Before he could finish the sentence, everyone heard the front door slam shut and their eyes followed Eren as he walked hurriedly into the dining room. Eren kissed his mother on the cheek and bowed his head lightly to Grisha as he wordlessly seated himself for the meal, plainly out of breath. He said a quick grace and crossed his chest before picking up a knife and fork and eating the cold salmon ravenously.

“So, I take it your visit went well?” his father asked.

Eren chewed slowly as he contemplated an answer. After a short pause, his mouth formed a smirk.

“You could say that.”

Levi didn’t need an ounce of logic to not only pick up on the cheeky undertone of his voice, but could see from Eren’s kiss-swollen lips that his visit with Historia Reiss did, in fact, go very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know I said post-season 3 stuff I'm not familiar enough to write about but I just want everyone to know that I simp HARD for older, season 4 man bun Eren so I just wanted to make it very clear in this chapter that that's the version I want, all day, every day. I'd go to war for it.


	3. Velvet Turquoise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the only reason I'm grinding out chapters this quickly is because I've had the first, like, four chapters planned out in detail for weeks. Also, the holidays and COVID are giving me too much free time. 
> 
> Also, this story is just really vibing with me. I'm very ~ inspired ~
> 
> Thanks everyone who has liked and reviewed this story so far. Please keep it coming, I love seeing people interacting with this!

Eren traveled to Long Island to call upon Historia two more times that same week without requiring much coaxing from his mother. After his initial trip to North Shore, the icy wall that regularly stood between the two was thawing at a promising rate and they were beginning to see each other in a more genuine light. The first realization that Eren made about Historia was that she was not as timid as he had thought previously. As a warm air of comfortability settled around them, Historia grew quite sarcastic and would often make jokes, some of them exceedingly inappropriate for a lady and gave Eren a proper shock.

One day while they were having lunch on the back terrace of her estate, soaking in the unyielding dry summer weather, Historia recited a poem that she’d overheard one of her uncles tell at a Christmas party last year. She closed her eyes gently and Eren was prepared to hear some Shakespearean sonnet when she opened her mouth and said:

There once was a man from Nantucket

Whose cock was so long he could suck it

He said with a grin as he wiped off his chin

“If my ear was a pussy I’d fuck it!”

Eren choked on his lemonade and Historia, pleased with herself, laughed endlessly at his reaction.

On the other occasion Eren had paid the heiress a visit, he surprised her by bringing an old set of golf clubs that Grisha hardly used anymore and they went out in the backyard to practice. Eren wasn’t much of a golfer himself but he was knowledgeable enough to make a passable teacher. Historia watched closely as he teed a golf ball into the grass and secured his hands around the grip of the club. Securing his feet, Eren drove the ball off into the sky with a clean whack and it soared out into the middle of the lake. Historia clapped and Eren grinned sheepishly.

“It’s all about the follow through,” he explained, showing her his swing in slow motion.

Eren then motioned for her to come over and give it a try. Historia nearly skipped towards him and took the club, positioning herself as she had seen Eren do only moments before and lifted the club rather awkwardly, about to swing, when he stopped her.

“You’re putting all the weight in your wrists. If you extend your arm - here, let me show you. Do you mind?”

Historia shook her head and Eren used his hands to straighten out her arms and pushed her shoulders back just so. Once finished, he took a step back, examined his adjustments, and then gave a satisfied nod. Acknowledging this signal, Historia refocused her eyes on the ball below and swung the golf club with all her might - a fatal error. Although she managed to knock the ball off the tee, she also lost her hold on the club and both went flying into the air and she stared in disbelief as they plummeted into the water. Horrified, she turned to Eren to apologize and instead he was howling in laughter, causing Historia to do the same.

They decided it was best to end golf lessons for the day. It seemed a better idea anyways to venture down to the beach to watch the sunset, which made the lake look like molten gold and casted a dreamlike hue over everything around them. It was the most magnificent backdrop as they sat in the sand, fingers lightly grazing fingers, and kissed each other softly. Eren slipped a hand around the back of Historia’s neck and traced circular motions around the nape of her hairline and she felt herself melting into him.

Neither of them would say it was love but there was an unquestionable desirability blooming between them that made the idea of marriage a very tangible reality in the future.

And it was then that Historia knew what had to be done.

-

The next morning, Historia arose earlier than usual and brushed her own hair and chose her own outfit. Opening her closet and skimming through her extensive wardrobe, she selected a dusty rose colored dress where the sleeves draped over her shoulders and the fabric ruffled in the center so that it appeared almost like a scarf. The length was to mid-calf and the waist was sowed on low, providing the illusion of a boyish figure. It was one of her favorites and she always paired it with a set of white lace gloves and matching flats.

As she stood in front of the mirror, reaching behind her back and struggling to find the zipper, Ymir knocked and entered her bedroom. A puzzled expression overcame her when she saw Historia nearly ready for the day.

“Lady Historia?”

“Good, you’re here,” she said, beckoning Ymir over to assist her.

Ymir obeyed without much of a second thought and zipped up the back of Historia’s dress, smoothing out any wrinkles on her shoulders and hips.

“Feeling impatient this morning?” she asked teasingly.

Historia shot Ymir a look through the mirror and matched her mockery. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I’m completely capable of dressing myself?”

Ymir replied with a chuckle before making her way over to Historia’s vanity where she plucked a pearl necklace from her jewelry stand. “This would go nicely with your dress,” she recommended, laying it across her palm. Historia agreed by gathering her hair up high and exposing her neck invitingly. Ymir returned to her and placed the necklace on her chest and clasped it in the back, noting how Historia smelled of a lilac perfume and how her hands lingered over her exposed skin.

When Ymir was finished, she informed Historia that breakfast was about to be served and that her parents were expecting her downstairs. Knowing better than to keep them waiting, Historia promptly left the room, leaving Ymir behind to tidy her bed.

The faint _pat-pat-pat_ of her shoes reverberated down the stairwell and across the corridor as she made her arrival to the dining room where her mother and father were already seated at a long, white oak table; Rod at the head of it, Alma to his right. She addressed them with a scarcely perceptive “Good morning” before joining at her father’s left. With the whole family present, an unnecessary amount of servants invaded with an unnecessary amount of food: plates containing fresh fruit, sausages, homemade bread, blueberry muffins, butter, and a ham and cheese quiche, among other things.

After the spread had been arranged on the table, a few of the servants remained holding pots of coffee and tea in case any of the family members needed a refill. The rest disappeared back into the kitchen and the Reiss’s, as they did every morning, ate in silence. Historia typically wouldn’t speak unless she was spoken to and if spoken to it was purely business related.

So, it wasn’t terribly startling when halfway through breakfast Rod broke routine to discuss Historia’s budding relationship with Eren.

“Grisha’s son has been coming here quite frequently as of late,” Rod remarked without anticipating or wanting a response. “A Princeton man, so there must be some wit about him.”

“He’s a drunk,” Alma chimed in sharply.

Rod stabbed his fork into a sausage and bit into it, chewing loudly. “The boy likes to have a bit of fun, I’ll admit, but I remember what it was like to be his age once.” There was a break in his thoughts only to alot him time to swallow his food and wash it down with a bit of coffee before going on. “It would be unfortunate if he turned out like his mother. A screw loose in that one. The only reason anyone tolerates her is because of Grisha. Now there’s a man of character. No real background, came from some lowly farm in Virginia, and managed to carve out a piece of this city for himself with his own talents. Reminds me of my great-great grandfather who hailed from Appalachia-”

Rod became absorbed in another one of his long-winded stories and Historia and Alma shared a small moment of sympathy for each other as they both looked on absentmindedly and attempted to block out most of it as they ate. Historia wasn’t feeling particularly hungry that morning and she pushed her quiche around on her plate. At one point, she spied Ymir carrying her laundry in the background. When they locked eyes, Ymir stuck her tongue out at her.

Historia bit her lip to contain her smile.

Alma stopped eating and glared coldly across the table at her daughter.

“What is so terribly amusing, child?”

“Nothing,” Historia answered meekly and carried on with shoveling her food around. She repeated this for a while as she built up the courage to face her father and ask in an anxious, hasty tone. “May I go with you into the city today?”

She knew he was going to visit his banker. He went every Friday afternoon.

Alma picked up her knife and buttered her muffin with a degree of vexation. “I think you’ve had enough excitement recently.”

“I’ll take the girl with me if she truly wants to go,” Rod argued and then looked to Historia. “We leave at eleven.”

Historia, grateful, ate her first bite of quiche.

Alma’s silverware rested idle in her hands as she scowled at her husband who didn’t pay her any attention. Angrily, she went back to her meal.

“Must you always undermine me?” she muttered to herself.

There was a quiet that came after that didn’t feel unordinary to Historia, but somewhere in that quiet Rod had established in his mind to raise his hand and strike Alma across the face with an unbridled force that nearly knocked her from her chair. Historia gasped audibly and jumped in her seat, fork clattering on her plate. Alma touched her finger to her bleeding lip, dazed and trembling, while Rod resumed eating as if nothing had happened at all.

“Please speak up next time, dear.”

-

Miles away back in the city, Carla Jaeger sat on a quaint sofa in her front sitting room while reading an Agatha Christie novel, her mood more stabilized than what it had been earlier in the week. A balanced cocktail of lithium and barbiturates was responsible for this improvement and Grisha was at her bedside every morning to make sure she was taking her doses, lest she spiral into another fit of moroseness.

As Carla was reading, Levi appeared bringing a small tray of sliced meat and cheeses. He placed it on the coffee table in front of her and she thanked him distractedly but kindly as she flipped through another page.

Adjacent to them was Grisha’s main office where he often tended to patients for minor necessities like check-ups or new prescriptions. When one first entered the house, the office was directly off to the right. The walls of the space were lined with frosted windows so it maintained an open concept while retaining privacy. Levi passed by as he returned to the kitchen, peeking out of the corner of his eye to see three blurry silhouettes inside. One was obviously Grisha but the other two belonged to Erwin and Petra Smith.

On the other side of the glass, Erwin also caught a hazy glimpse of Levi’s fleeting figure. He focused on it intently until it completely disappeared from his vision and even then he didn’t reallocate his attention straight away. Not until he heard Petra saying his name impatiently.

“Erwin.”

“Hm?

“The doctor,” she pointed, annoyed. “He speak to you.”

Erwin apologized and Grisha was quick to dismiss it before repeating himself.

“I was merely saying how it’s very encouraging to see a husband attend these appointments. Usually the women come alone.”

“Ah, yes, well,” Erwin fumbled as he searched for the correct sentiment and settled on touching Petra’s arm affectionately, “she is going through so much as it is, so the least I can do is offer my support.”

Grisha simply nodded at the display as he inspected the paperwork on his desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and humming to himself. He addressed Petra as he read.

“How are you reacting to the estrogen shots? Any side effects?”

“My breasts are tender,” she answered plainly.

“That’s common,” Grisha assured, eyes still on his notes.

Petra deemed the doctor’s attitude too cavalier for her delicate situation and quickly grew frustrated. She perched herself higher in her chair, crossed her legs indignantly, and clasped her hands in her lap.

“One month,” she emphasized as her voice rose with displeasure. “One month I prick myself with these shots and no baby. We rut like dogs in heat and still,” she swept her hand over her slim figure and whispered hotly, “no baby.”

Her abrasiveness caused Erwin some embarrassment and he offered Grisha a regretful look as the doctor’s eyes finally left his desk and honed in on the unhappy patient before him. He spoke evenly to her as he did with everyone who sat in that same chair.

“These things take time. Many women don’t reap the benefits of this treatment until almost 6 months.”

Petra sighed exasperatedly and turned to Erwin. “It’s him,” she declared. “I know it’s him.”

“You’re concerned about your husband’s fertility?”

“It’s not the physical it’s the…” she trailed off, forgetting her English, and instead tapped on her skull disgruntledly.

“...emotional?” Grisha finished.

“ _Da_ , he is stressed.”

The progressing conversation had Erwin pinching the flesh between his eyebrows.

“That could be a probable cause,” Grisha concurred sympathetically. “High anxiety is known to lower sperm count.”

“Give him something for the stress,” Petra demanded and crossed her arms tightly on her chest as if her request would be fulfilled if she carried on being an insufferable bitch. At least, that’s what Erwin was deducing in his own mind.

Grisha’s lips tightened into a hard line at her request and neither he, Petra, nor Erwin said anything for quite some time. Having enough of the tension in the room, Erwin stood up and excused himself to the restroom, almost feeling guilty for leaving Dr. Jaeger alone with Petra when she was in such an unrelenting state but not enough to endure it another second. He exited the office and passed Carla who was too engrossed in her book to notice him. There was a small guest bathroom down the hallway just behind the sitting room and Erwin slipped inside and shut the door firmly. Letting out a sigh of relief, he rested his hands against the sink and leaned the weight of his body against it, wanting nothing more to escape.

And then the door opened and closed behind him.

Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, Erwin knew it was Levi.

It was the same formula as all the other times before it. No salutations, no small talk. Erwin only wanted to take the Jaeger’s servant boy into his arms and crush their mouths together in that delicious, forbidden warmth. Which is exactly what he did. Their breaths came heavily out of their noses as they devoured each other’s lips and grazed their tongues together.

And then as suddenly as it had started, it ended.

Levi had slid a hand between their bodies and separated them with a push. Erwin looked down at him visibly confused.

“You could stand to greet me every once in a while,” Levi jeered.

Apprehension faded away instantly and Erwin smiled, brushing the hair away from Levi’s intensely gray eyes.

“Hi.”

That voice. Low and heavenly, it lured him like how he imagined sailors were lured to their deaths by singing enchantresses at sea in the Greek mythologies. Levi discerned then that he really didn’t want the greeting at all and replied with a weak “hi” in return before succumbing completely to Erwin’s embrace. Their lips reconnected and Erwin, in great haste, opened the fly on Levi’s pants and pulled them down enough to free his erection. Levi was taken aback when he was hoisted up with ease and placed on top of the sink where, much to his astonishment but not much to his complaint, Erwin sucked him off.

Levi removed one of his legs from the restriction of his pants so he could provide better access. He draped the leg on Erwin’s shoulder as he braced one hand against the wall and clenched the other around the sink. Levi’s head rolled back in bliss but had to suppress the moans bubbling in his throat to keep from raising alarm. Instead, they died inside his chest and were released as quiet, hitched pants.

Erwin’s tongue swept back and forth along Levi’s shaft before enveloping him wholly inside his wet mouth so tautly that the heat pooled in Levi’s cheeks and his face flushed like a delirious sickness. His hand left the sink and grabbed hold of Erwin’s perfectly combed hair all on its own. Most likely in an attempt to keep him from floating off into the ceiling.

“Almost, almost,” Levi whined desperately and then released himself immediately after. The sensation of climax spread and pulsated all over his body down to the tips of his toes, making him wonderfully light-headed.

His euphoria drifted down like a feather in the wind and when he finally arrived back on solid ground, he looked down at Erwin who was wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Do you want me to…?” Levi hinted from above.

Erwin shook his head and stood up. “Consider it a treat.”

Levi climbed down from the sink gradually, his legs shaky, and managed to pull up his pants. “How could I forget,” he quipped, dragging up his zipper, “your seed is a prized commodity these days.”

There was no response. Rather, Erwin was engrossed in reshaping his hair and straightening his suit in the mirror, leaving Levi feeling a tad imprudent for mentioning it. Erwin, however, could sense it and cupped his palm under Levi’s chin, a reassuring gesture, before departing the restroom and returning to Grisha’s office.

On his way back, Carla had taken a recess from her leisure to call after him.

“Oh, Erwin, before I miss you again.” Carla set her book down and picked herself up from the sofa, shaking out her dress. “I was wondering if you and Petra wanted to join us for dinner soon. Perhaps next week?”

The vision of having dinner with Carla and Grisha wasn’t something Erwin reveled in.

“I’ll be in New Jersey next week,” he stated and was planning to leave it at that until he caught sight of Levi walking behind Carla and then changed his tune. “How about the week after?”

Carla beamed.

“Splendid!”

-

Historia and her father reached Dawk Financial Group a little after noon. The two didn’t speak during the car ride there and Historia tried to bury the image of that morning’s breakfast somewhere far away, like she had done countless times before. Rod put forth most of his communicative energy towards the driver, talking from the back seat about the Yankees being in the running to go to the World Series. Rod predicted that it would go to seven games between them and St. Louis while the driver insisted that the Yankees would sweep it in four. One thing they did agree about was their certainty that a victory was evident, especially with the unmatched ability of Babe Ruth.

The chatter nearly put Historia to sleep.

She was relieved when the car came to stop. The driver pulled the vehicle up to the sidewalk and let Rod and Historia out of the back, Rod exiting first. The moment Historia stepped outside she was bewitched by the buzz of Wall Street. An endless ocean of people ambled along in tailored suits and beautiful dresses beside neo-classical buildings that were a colossal screen of limestone. Historia’s spirit enlivened and ached for she wished terribly to leave North Shore for the hustle of the city.

Her and her father entered one of the limestone giants through a heavy copper door and they were welcomed by a Byzantine-style hall of giant arches, polished floors, and varied marbles and mosaics. Everything looked and smelled of unrivaled wealth. Out from one of the offices, a slender man with a thin mustache and sad chin hairs approached with his arms opened wide to receive them and he shook Rod’s hand strongly, both men talking boisterously to each other.

“Rod Reiss, damn good to see you! Checking in on your affairs?”

“Oh, you know how I get, Nile. Seeing all that money can get one’s cock hard.”

Historia wrinkled her nose in disgust. Before the two men could utter another word to each other, she interjected.

“Father, I think I’m going to have a look around the shops if that’s-”

Without looking in her direction, Rod grunted flippantly and shooed her away as he and the banker went off to his office.

Historia took the ill-mannered dismissal amiably and left out the door from which she came without hesitation. She stood on the sidewalk once again, absorbing the atmosphere and taking an enraptured breath that relaxed her: mind, body and soul. She roamed down the avenue, trying her best to blend in with the crowd so that she seemed like she belonged, but anyone could spot from the way she gazed up at the behemoth steel structures in awe that she was an outsider.

The neat mansions of North Shore were a dying planet, she thought. _This_ was the new world.

Historia journeyed around three blocks until she halted in front of a shoe shop where the sign starkly read “Braun’s Shoes”. She peered into the store window and saw no signs of life. Only leather shoes displayed on shelves and an unmanned front counter. She stepped back and circled around the building, finding herself in a back alley where a strapping young man with short blonde hair sat on a crate smoking a cigarette.

“Hard at work I see,” she said with familiarity.

The man perked up at the sound of her voice. Before she could say anything more, he put the burning cigarette in his mouth and held up a finger for her to wait, then disappeared into the back door. Historia did as she was told and listened to the ruckus being made behind the scenes. After a time, the man reappeared holding a shoebox and handed it to her.

“As you ordered.”

Historia grinned excitedly and opened the box which contained a pair of handmade velvet turquoise heels. “Oh, Reiner,” she gasped, touching them lightly as if they were made of glass. “These have exceeded all of my expectations. They’re gorgeous.”

Reiner exhaled a cloud of smoke and shrugged. “Gorgeous things belong on gorgeous women.”

He watched her admire the shoes for a little bit longer until he impatiently flicked his cigarette away and drew closer to her. His calloused fingers lifted her chin and their eyes met briefly before he kissed her deeply. Those gleaming blue orbs fluttered shut, submitting to the act. That is, until she remembered the intentions of this meeting went beyond merely picking up a shoe order.

Historia pulled away and the perplexity of Reiner’s expression caused her to frantically explain herself.

“I actually came here to talk to you about something,” she began nervously. “It would seem that I am betrothed...well, about to be betrothed. And we both knew this was coming someday but it would appear that I actually quite like him and it would cause me great sorrow to deceive him in this manner so I-”

Reiner silenced her ramblings with another kiss and Historia shoved him back.

“Stop that at once!” she cried, mortified.

“Or what?” he chided with a dastardly smirk.

“Or I’ll tell my father that you, a perverted beast of a man, are trying to seduce his daughter!”

“Your daddy’s money doesn’t scare me.”

“Well, it should,” Historia said adamantly. She tucked the shoebox under her arm and dug through her coin purse, presenting Reiner with a small fortune. “For your effort.”

Reiner held up a hand. “Keep the money,” he insisted. “Think of me when you spend it buying you and your betrothed ice cream cones or whatever you two do together.”

His impassiveness towards the situation infuriated her to a magnitude she didn’t expect because she knew he didn’t take her seriously. Just as her mother and father did. Just as everyone else. Anger seized her and while she intended to stay longer, she had no desire to now.

“Good day to you, then,” she huffed, nose turned upwards, and went to walk out of the alley. When she perceived that he wasn’t immediately following after her, her anger only doubled. Her eyebrow twitched and she spun around on her heel, yelling at him, “I mean it Reiner Braun! This is the last time we meet like this!”

His smirk remained as he waved her goodbye, not believing her still.

And although Historia was overwrought with rage, a more sensible part of her brain wondered if he really should.

-

Historia held the shoebox close on the trip back to North Shore and her father mentioned nothing of it. Her mind was astray in unrelenting waves of thought and emotion. She considered her developing relationship with Eren and her ongoing one with Reiner Braun, the shoemaker. What a scandal it would be if it ever found its way to the society papers. Yet the risk was always worth the reward when the reward of Reiner’s affections was the only part of her life keeping her totally starved of passion.

But now she had Eren.

Her history with Reiner wasn’t a grand story to be told at a party. It was plain but that’s what she enjoyed most about it. Everything between them came about by chance. She happened to patron his family business one day and they knew upon first glance that they were attracted to one another. She started joining her father on his banking excursions more frequently just for the opportunity to have a conversation with the shoemaker. He was strong and built and his hands were rough from work. It was foreign and it was brilliant.

With each visit they began progressively more forthright until they found comfort in each other’s lips.

But, again, she had Eren.

Eren was raised to be a gentleman and a gentleman he was, although a bit childish at times, and unlike the rigidness and simplicity of Reiner, Eren was beautiful, well-bred, and soft. Historia was torn but she didn’t pretend that she possessed the freedom to choose. She did, however, possess the power to spare someone’s feelings and that, undoubtedly, had to be Reiner.

When Historia was home, she went swiftly upstairs with the shoebox to hide her terrible, guilt-ridden secret. She shut her bedroom door and locked it and then opened the box to take the heels in her hands, becoming mystified once again at their beauty. Of course, she had to try them on. Historia kicked off her flats and slipped her feet inside where they hugged her toes and ankles exquisitely.

Admiring them in the mirror, Historia gave a small twirl and smiled.

She did notice, though, that there was a folded piece of paper in the box that she had overlooked in her anticipation to don her new footwear. Pulling it out and opening it, it read: “If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever.”

Historia’s heart soared and hurt wretchedly at the same time. She carefully placed the note back inside the box along with her shoes and decided to hide the gift in the back of her closet where she was certain no one would find it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to put this at the end of the chapter and I don't even know if people care that much, but this story is, at its core, an Eren x Levi story. I just want to tell other stories on top of it before getting into THEIR story because these relationships WILL effect their stories. Levi and Eren will definitely connect in Chapter 5. I really do enjoy writing about the several other relationships happening in this world I'm building, so I'm really just trying to say: All good things to those who wait~


	4. Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short but difficult chapter, imo. 
> 
> Trigger Warning: Mentions of infant death and miscarriages.

-

Tenement District 

October, 1928

-

The chaotic noise of shrieking children overwhelmed Mina’s senses when she arrived to drop Thomas off with the wet nurse. Only one or two of the children, she couldn’t recall for certain, were birthed by the wet nurse while the rest belonged to other women in nearby tenements. Reluctantly, Thomas was handed over to the pandemonium with a small bag of necessities containing extra cloth diapers, a change of clothes, and his favorite blanket that was knitted by their Sicilian neighbor. He wouldn’t surrender to a nap without it. The wet nurse took Thomas into her arms as she did a hundred times before but Mina never felt any less guilty for it.

Before she left, she asked, “Has he been latching for you alright? He doesn’t seem to want anything to do with me lately.”

The wet nurse waved her hand in a nonchalant yet reassuring manner. “Don’t fret about it, darlin’. Happens to the best of us. Try squeezing your tit flat and tickle his mouth with your nipple. That should do the trick.”

Mina nodded, unhopeful, as she set off to catch the bus down the street. There she waited with a pack of women who wore muted, tattered dresses and scarves around their heads to keep hair and sweat at bay while they smoked hand-rolled cigarettes. When the bus appeared, screeching to a halt, they crammed themselves onboard one by one like a can of sardines. Although the onset of October had brought about a modest breeze, the overabundance of bodies in such a tiny space caused the temperature inside the bus to rise to an uncomfortable gradation. They fanned their faces and necks with whatever they could materialize as they chartered off to the Garment District. Regularly, the women would prattle over the seats about inconsequential happenings: my mother-in-law wants to move in at the end of the month...I heard her husband gambled away the rent money...did you hear so-and-so is down in the clanker for boot-legging…?

It also wasn’t uncommon for some of them to break out into song as a means of rallying their spirits before a long shift. Today, it was requested that they sing “Mein Vater war ein Wanderman”. It began with only a few participants and then gradually more voices joined, harmonizing to make a small choir.

_Mein Vater war ein Wandersmann_   
_Und mir steckt's auch im Blut_   
_D'rum wand're ich froh so lang ich kann_   
_Und schwenke meinen Hut_   
_Faleri falera_   
_Faleri falera ha ha ha ha ha ha_

The women laughed the lyrics merrily. Mina, not one for cheering up, stared lethargically out the window. Actually she felt rather cynical that morning. What a dreadful condition every soul on that bus found themselves in. Poor and born women, already destined to be abused, raped, or chastised by men who did very little besides have a cock. Now they had the added encumbrance of working themselves to the bone 14 hours a day, 6 days a week for minute pay on top of maintaining a house, rearing children and pleasing their husbands.

It was too much for any individual to handle, but they must endure because they were women.

Women were not permitted to fail.

Once they had stopped in the Garment District, they all filed out of the bus and scattered like ants marching to their respective colonies. Mina’s colony could be found at Founder’s Fabrics, an ugly, grey concrete mass where steam billowed from two tall, cylindrical brick towers. Mina entered the building and made her way to the locker room. The only personal possession she had to store away was her lunch: a turkey sandwich on rye and an apple. Around her, other women did the same, many using small mirrors that they’d obtained to fix anything askew with their hair or headbands before heading out to the work floor. A few even took the liberty to apply lipstick.

Mina was stationed on the sewing tables, pulling needle and thread day in and day out. Pricking her already hardened fingers so that she could hem silks for those who could afford to wear them.

The atmosphere was similar to what Mina often experienced on the bus. To pass time, the women would gossip or discuss their families. Generally, the conversations would take a lewd turn at the mentioning of husbands and they would all erupt in devious giggles. Mina, however, wanted to avoid any talk about her private life. Part of it was because there wasn’t much to say. Her mother died of Spanish influenza when she was young and her father was a drunk. Not violently so. She fathomed she should count herself fortunate in that regard. He was simply quiet and distant. His fatherly duties never went beyond feeding and clothing her. Still, a dog might receive more attention from its master than what she had been given her whole life from the man who had helped bring her into this world.

The other side of it was Thomas. Speaking of her child would, by nature, lead to the topic of his father.

When Mina was first hired at Founder’s Fabrics after Thomas was born, she tried to conceal his existence for as long as possible. Alas, her breasts would leak so profusely that it would stain the front of her bodice no matter how much cotton she shoved in her chest and her secret was discovered rather quickly. As a result, her coworkers unleashed a bombardment of questions, prompting Mina to lie that Thomas’s father had died of consumption. She could not admit outright that she had laid with a man who she’d thought had loved her, but fled to West Virginia a week after their son was born. A son she had unwisely named after a man who left them only a note and a ten dollar bill to survive on.

But, of course, no one would ever put the blame on Thomas Wagner Sr. Men are provided with an inexhaustible amount of scapegoats to diminish their shortcomings and this was a scapegoat as old as time itself: the temptress bringing a perfect gentleman to ruin with the powers of her evil cunt.

Well, she may be damaged goods to many, but she did her best to support her son financially and emotionally, figuring that must count for something because it was more than any father she had ever known had done for their children.

All comes with a price, though. In her uncompromising efforts to be everything she never had for her son, she had lost herself in a whirlwind of exhaustion. Lately, Thomas had been reserve cycling and refusing her milk, meaning she was up all day and most of the night. Her mind and body constantly felt underwater where sounds and movements transpired at a laggard speed. She would sleep on any open bench during her lunch hour but it was never enough. Today seemed worse than usual for she was dozing off in the middle of her work, needle and thread falling lax in her hands as her eyes slipped closed. One of the girls would jab her in the side and Mina would jump back to alertness, only for a second or two, before repeating the process again. The perpetual switching between consciousness and unconsciousness made her believe she was going mad and stuck in some vile time loop.

If there were a hell, Mina was convinced she was presently living it.

-

To commemorate the end of September and, optimistically, the end of such a brutal summer, Carla had asked a couple of her acquaintances over to the house for a small luncheon. They sat on cushioned patio chairs right outside the french doors with the canopy drawn over them to block out the sunlight. One of the women who had been invited brought along her six-month-old daughter and Carla stole her away without delay. Currently, she was bouncing the baby in her lap who was cooing animatedly in return. A profound joy consumed her hearing such a pure, wholesome sound but her heart also panged in sorrow remembering when Eren had been that tiny. She wondered, as all mothers did, where all that time had gone.

“Levi, darling,” she said as he poured them iced sweet tea, “do we happen to have any leftover rice pudding from last night?”

“Yes, madame. Shall I have Nanaba heat it up on the stove?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Carla then addressed the baby in a high, endearing pitch. “Would you like some rice pudding? Say, why, yes! We love rice pudding!”

Levi withdrew back into the house through the french doors and went straight to the kitchen where he informed Nanaba of the ladyship’s request. A simple ask. Nanaba complied without much protest. While she busied herself with the task, Levi took the opportunity to go out the back door and have a cigarette. Once outside, he spotted that Hitch was already there doing the same and he joined her without saying a word.

He dug a set of matches out of his pocket and struck one against the box until it sparked a flame, touching the tobacco to it and puffing on the filter until the end burned. He shook out the match and tossed it into the grass before leaning against the side of the house and taking a long drag. As his cigarette progressively dwindled, it was difficult not to notice how Hitch was biting her fingernails fretfully next to him.

Levi normally wouldn’t ask but something inside him compelled him to do it.

“Are you alright?”

She heard the question but didn’t look at him. Her gaze was off somewhere far away. “Yes. I’m just...concerned about her ladyship is all.”

Not trying to push his luck with the subject any further, Levi dropped it. The seemingly ambiguous statement was enough for him to determine where her thoughts were at.

It was impossible to keep intimate household matters classified and hidden from staff successfully, especially when they worked so closely to their employers. Servitude was unique in that way. So, it was universal but unspoken knowledge that, while Carla had supposedly been afflicted by episodes of madness since early womanhood, it had worsened considerably after suffering multiple miscarriages over the years in her and Grisha’s attempts to conceive another child. The most recent tragedy happened nearly two years ago when Carla had carried a baby to full-term only to give birth to a stillborn daughter. It was right before Levi had become employed with the family.

Hitch’s worries were doubtlessly warranted. She stressed that being around a baby in her recently fragile mental state would send her ladyship spiraling into a depression even darker than the ones that had come before it.

Levi was about finished with his cigarette and Nanaba must have sensed it because in the midst of his last inhale, she peeked around the back door to notify him that the pudding was ready. Levi made a move to go inside but Hitch stopped him.

“I’ll do it,” she insisted, her tone more of a command than a courtesy. Respectfully, Levi allowed her to do so.

Hitch entered the kitchen and grabbed the small bowl of rice pudding from the island and carried it out to the courtyard where Carla was still engaged in play. Carla graciously accepted the pudding from Hitch and scooped a small helping onto a spoon. The child ate the warmed dessert with a wondrous expression and opened its mouth eagerly for a second bite. The women all chuckled in amusement.

Away in the background, Hitch watched the jovial display before her, remembering the night when she cleaned up Carla’s bloody bed sheets as she wept next to her lifeless infant.

-

Levi worked the rest of the day until the end of supper. After all the food had been eaten and the plates had been properly washed and stacked back into the cabinets, Levi biked home. No leftovers were available that night, so he would have to stand in line for potato stew and a stiff piece of bread. He hauled his bike up the stairs as he always did and set it next to the front door. Before even opening it, he could hear Thomas wailing from inside. He sighed before stepping through the threshold and was welcomed by the sight of Mina, alone, trying to soothe the distressed child in her arms as tears streamed down her face.

“Oh, Levi,” she pleaded despairingly.

Levi considered the scene before him with great care and approached her steadily.

Mina sniffed, rocking Thomas on her hip as she struggled to explain her situation through choked sobs. “Thomas, h-he won’t take my breast. I won’t produce any more mi-milk and he’ll cry all night long. I’m so _tired_ , Levi, I-”

Levi shushed her gently and lifted Thomas from her grasp, causing her hysteria to lessen just a bit. “Go downstairs,” he instructed evenly, “and get in line for dinner. Make sure you tell them you need extra bread and milk. We’ll feed him that way.”

Mina didn’t move right away. Instead, she wiped her tears - drained, ashamed, and feeling like a child herself for reacting in such an unsightly way. Levi assured her that all was well by encouraging her again with the same gentleness as before until she finally composed herself and left. Sasha and Eld hadn’t come home yet, so Levi was there unaided with a crying Thomas.

Levi looked down at him and was instantly transported back to Riquewihr, recalling an incident where he fell hard on the cobblestone streets of the village square while kicking a pigskin ball around with his friends, scraping up his chin and tearing a nasty gash in his knee. There wasn’t any pain but the fall itself shocked him into a state of panic and he ran home to his mother, breathless and frightened. She kneeled down and examined his injuries, unperturbed, and went to the cupboard for a bottle of alcohol. Levi hissed and whined loudly when she poured it over his open wounds. A gauze was wrapped around his knee afterwards but unfortunately there wasn’t much she could do about his chin. When she was done, they locked pinky fingers, a special handshake between the two, and Kuchel would kiss his forehead and sing “A La Claire Fountaine”.

Levi sang that same song to Thomas now.

_À la claire fontaine,_   
_M'en allant promener_   
_J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle_   
_Que je m'y suis baigné_

He sang the lullaby for as long as it was necessary until Mina reappeared in the doorway with food. She paused at the image with incredulity and admiration before setting down the container of stew, a basket of bread, and a jar of cow’s milk on the table. Levi returned Thomas to his mother so that he could rip off a piece of bread and dunk it in the milk. When it was thoroughly soaked, Levi reached over the table and sweeped it against Thomas’s lips until he suckled on it.

“I know mother’s milk is always best,” he said, “but this will have to do for now.”

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Mina asked.

“I’ll wait.”

The brief conversation ended there and the only sound heard between the two was Thomas suckling on milk-sodden bread. Both of them were utterly fatigued from the day. After twenty minutes, Thomas nursed himself to sleep and Mina, thankful beyond words, went to lay him down in her bed. When she came back into their cramped dining area, she loitered for a moment, contemplating her next steps, before throwing all caution to the wind. She advanced towards Levi and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tight. He didn’t reciprocate the affection nor did she expect him to. Rather, he stiffened in her embrace. Not in repugnance for her, but at the unfamiliar sensation of being touched so innocently. After they parted, Mina announced that she would be eating in her room and took some bread and stew with her.

At that moment, Levi was quite content with dining alone.

-

The next morning Levi was wrenched out of his slumber to screams that curdled his blood. He shot up from bed, as did Eld, and both men threw off their coverings and sprung into immediate action. They followed the screams down the hallway, stumbling as they shook off sleep, and stood in the doorway of Sasha and Mina’s room. Sasha was kneeling at Mina’s bedside as the other woman cried out so wretchedly that Levi wasn’t sure it was human.

“What the fuck is going on?” Eld shouted.

Levi vision became fully focused then and he saw, unmistakably, Mina cradling Thomas in her arms. Dead. Cold apprehension prickled the hairs on his body.

Sasha shook her head with tears in her eyes. “She must have been too deep in sleep to notice-”

Everyone stood frozen for what seemed like a whole eternity before Levi resolved within himself to approach Mina with an unprecedented prudence that was much, much greater than what he had exhibited only hours before. As he came nearer, he could gather from Thomas’s blue face that she must have rolled over and suffocated him in the night. He did not make any attempt to embrace her. It would be an ill-advised act. Alternatively, he touched his fingertips to Thomas’s forehead and nodded to Sasha who understood the silent message and started to pray aloud. Although Levi had relinquished his faith many years ago, he bowed his head in respect.

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them…”

The rest of the prayer was completed in less than a minute and Sasha concluded with the Holy Trinity, crossing her chest as she chanted, “In Nomine Patirs, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

Everyone except Mina collectively uttered an “amen” and a wail rang through the air even louder than before. God must have heard her anguish from heaven for the skies that morning were shrouded with dark clouds and it rained for the first time in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the continued support. Eren and Levi will be united next chapter!


	5. The Great Bambino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go Yankees.
> 
> Also, the song in this chapter is available on YouTube if you want to listen for ~ ambiance ~

It turned out that the Yankees and the Cardinals did, in fact, find themselves in the World Series. The Yankees had unexpectedly, but to everyone’s elation, claimed victory in the first three games and the fourth, and hopefully anticipated, final game was scheduled to take place the evening Carla had scheduled dinner with the Smiths. It simply would not do. She rang Petra a couple days before when the date for the big game was set in stone and asked if she would dreadfully mind if their intimate dinner plans became a large-scale watch party. Her and Erwin were still invited to attend, of course.

“We will come for the baseball,” Petra answered bluntly over the phone.

Carla was never certain how to receive Petra’s frank manner of speaking but she tried to respond as cordially as she could, expressing that she would be looking forward to their presence.

The day of the event, Carla was hurrying about the house, bouncing between the kitchen and the sitting room, checking up on food preparations one minute and then ordering footmen to push the furniture flush against the wall to create more space the next. Carla demanded they leave the coffee table in the middle of the room since it would be housing the radio, making it the natural focal point of the party. Once the sitting room was arranged to her liking, she went back to the kitchen to investigate the progress of dinner, which really wouldn’t be dinner at all, she’d decided. A sports game wasn’t the occasion for a grand, sprawling meal. She figured it best if an assortment of h’orderves and various other finger foods were lined on the dining table so that guests could eat at their leisure.

When she walked through the kitchen doors, the staff stood at attention as they always did and she expeditiously waved at them to resume their duties but motioned Levi and Nanaba to follow her into the pantry where they stored dried goods and wine. They abandoned their undertakings to join her.

Carla took a bottle of wine from the top shelf and studied it, turning it around in her hands and furrowing her eyebrows in consideration. “I was thinking something universal for the party tonight,” she mused aloud.

Nanaba peered closely at the bottle and recognized it as a riesling. “May I suggest something a little more medium-bodied, madame?” the chef proposed as a way of humbly disagreeing with her selection. Nanaba went to the shelf and picked a green-hued bottle in one hand and a dark-hued one in another, holding them out for her ladyship’s deliberation. “A pinot grigio has a more neutral aroma than a sauvignon blanc and to compliment it, we can also serve a French burgundy. For the red wine enthusiasts.”

Carla nodded, her knuckles tucked under her chin. “Yes, I agree. That should do nicely.” She requested Levi’s opinion but could quickly deduce from the way his eyes were staring off at nothing in particular that his thoughts were anywhere but at the issue at hand. “Are you alright, love?” she asked gently, touching his arm. The action caused Levi to reground himself in the present. “Still feeling sick from last week? Because I can send you home.”

“No, madame,” Levi replied evenly.

She was not entirely convinced but she didn’t have time to debacle it. She left it alone and reverted her interest back to choosing the perfect wine for the evening while Levi reverted back to picturing the funeral they held for Thomas only three days ago. As Carla had mentioned, Levi had requested off sick when truthfully he was organizing the burial with the assistance of Sasha since Mina had refused to leave her bedroom since the morning of his death. The only instance that she had come out was the day they had returned baby Thomas to the Earth and she watched, devoid of all emotion, as they lowered his small casket into the dirt. It was a modest service and attendance, which included Levi, Eld, Sasha and some of the women from Mina’s work. Not a single member of her family showed up and Levi wouldn’t dare ask if she had attempted to contact the boy’s father who he knew wasn’t actually dead. He was one in very, very few people that she had entrusted with such a secret.

In the days that passed after the funeral, Levi worried that she may do something drastic. What that something was he couldn’t confidently say, but he knew better than most that there was nothing more perilous than someone who believed they had nothing else to live for. Unfortunately, money needed to be made and Levi begrudgingly had to return to the Jaeger household. Before he left that morning, he had fixed a light breakfast of toast, jam, and cut up mandarin oranges and set it outside her door. He suspected that it would still be sitting there, uneaten, when he got home.

Coming back to work layered on top of the weight of recent events had Levi in a particularly scornful mood. Everything about today, about this party, was so ridiculous to him. Stressing over wine, prepping food, rearranging the house all so that people who made too much money to give a damn could comfortably listen to a baseball game. It made him nauseous but he conformed nonetheless. His job was to serve. Judgement was reserved for a somewhat higher power and it was well above his pay grade to care anyways.

Carla definitively decided to go with Nanaba’s wine recommendation, dismissing them back to their tasks. Nanaba and Levi then spent the entirety of the afternoon preparing food. Levi washed and peeled shrimp in a basin while Nanaba made a tart cocktail sauce; he rolled seasoned ground beef for Swedish meatballs while she mixed together a pasta salad; and he baked pineapple upside down cake and homemade rolls while she boiled deviled eggs and decorated a charcuterie board with different cheeses and olives. Other members of the kitchen cleared the dining room table of any unnecessary decor so that there was an unencumbered surface for the food. They plated and set out anything that was ready and by the time guests started to arrive, almost everything was on display.

It was as if Levi blinked his eyes and the party had begun.

Knocks at the front door became more and more incessant. Every time Carla heard a rapping, she was there to happily greet them and beckon them inside until gradually a crowd formed inside the house. The hum of civil chatter reverberated against the walls. Circles of people loitered about as the footman made their rounds, offering glasses of the pinot grigio and the French burgundy.

The typical guest list was present, almost the same as the last soiree Carla hosted in early September, except Historia Reiss attended alone without her parents. Although neither of them relished in get-togethers, Alma was in no proper condition to go anywhere. When Rod had struck her at breakfast the day Historia had last visited Reiner, he had successfully broken a blood vessel in her left eye and it was currently healing. It wasn’t an acceptable state for any lady to be seen publicly in, regardless of the circumstances in which it‘d happened.

Her contemplations about Alma and Rod were dispelled when Eren approached, hair pulled back in a bun like he usually styled it, leaving out a few strands to frame his face. He wore a casual outfit of a white button up shirt with the cuffs rolled up, brown sleeve garters secured around his arms, and matching brown pants. He looked fashionably disheveled as he handed her a glass of pinot grigio. She thanked him kindly and plucked it from his grasp. They sipped on the dry white wine until they were joined by Armin and Jean who Historia had never formally spoken to. They exchanged introductions well enough, though, and Jean clanked his wine glass against Eren’s.

“To the Yankees,” he saluted.

“To the Yankees,” Eren concurred.

And then both men took large gulps from their glasses.

Armin was the first of Eren’s two friends to engage in conversation with Historia beyond a simple salutation. She was immediately disappointed when it was only to ask the whereabouts of her mother and father.

“Where is Mr. and Mrs. Reiss, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Historia articulated her well-rehearsed response. “Mother wasn’t feeling well and my father stayed behind to keep her in good spirits.”

“That’s very kind of him.”

Historia hummed agreeably before polishing off her nearly full drink completely. All three of the men looked at her in bewilderment. Eren in particular wondered when he would ever stop being surprised by her. When she removed the glass from her lips, she afforded them a blase expression and shrugged.

“To the Yankees?”

The men smiled wide at her comment and they raised their glasses, declaring even louder than before, “To the Yankees!”

-

When the game was underway, a congregation formed around the radio in the sitting room. The beginning was rather uneventful and had people revolving in and out, listening here and there for score updates as they ate, conversed, drank, and smoked amongst themselves. It wasn’t until the last half of the game where it started to turn into a real pressure cooker and everyone huddled around the radio, bodies pressed against bodies, elbows resting on shoulders, and ears honing in on the sportscaster’s high and rapid voice reporting every play as it unfolded in Yankee Stadium. If a pin needle dropped onto the floor, it would echo through the whole house.

“Bottom of the ninth. Yankees tied with St. Louis 3-3. Lou Gehrig on first, Cedric Durst on second with two outs. The Yankees have to pull something out of their hats to keep the game from going into extra innings.”

Carla’s sofas creaked under the weight of several men scooting up to the edge of the cushions.

“And here comes Babe Ruth to the plate-”

Resounding shouts of approval broke out around the room, powerful yet brief so that they could hear what was about to happen next. Eren and Jean carried on in the background hooting and yelling, “Let’s go Bambino!” Someone sharply hushed them and they looked at each other devilishly and tried to stifle their chuckles like school boys in the back of the classroom.

“Pete Alexander winds up,” the sportscaster announced. “He throws the first pitch aaaaand it’s a ball. He gets ready for another, he winds up - oh, a strike.”

The hopeful shouts from before were replaced with collective groans.

“He’s just getting a feel for it,” Dot Pixis assured from his seat on the ottoman nearest to the radio.

“Alexander goes for another pitch, he hurls it down the middle - it’s a hit!”

Anyone who was sitting down abruptly stood up in silent, uncontainable excitement but no cheers were released just yet in case the ball was caught by the outfield.

“It’s up, it’s up, it’s up,” the sportscaster chanted. There was a pause on the radiowave and then the words that every soul in the city was praying to hear were uttered. “It’s out of the park!”

The floodgates burst open and a tremendous wave of merriment came forth. The entire room erupted into cries of victory. Men jumped about and hugged other men energetically and then kissed their wives hard on the mouths, grinning, laughing, and hollering in delight. Eren also found himself doing the same, embracing Jean and Armin and patting their backs before picking up Historia by the waist in the commotion, spinning her around and kissing her. For a fleeting second he worried whether or not she would be upset by the public display of affection, but her airy laughter implied that it wasn’t much of an issue. The sportscaster could be heard faintly, almost forgotten when only a moment ago it was the most precious sound from there to Long Island.

“It’s a great day to be a New Yorker. For the first time in franchise history, the Yankees complete a four game sweep to take home the title of World Series champions…”

Historia passively reflected about how her family driver had predicted the correct outcome over her father.

-

For an hour all anyone could do was talk about the details of the game and the season the Yankees had that led to an inevitable championship win. Kicking “Wild” Bill Donovan to the curb and bringing Miller Huggins for some much-needed managerial overhaul got the Yankees back on track. Of course, but Babe Ruth had been dominating the plate all season. Their offense was an unbreakable force. Agreed, however, their outfield had solid talent-

Carla, like most of the women, was growing rather bored of all the sports chit-chat. Setting her wine glass down, she strode over to Grisha, a mischievous glint in her eye, and tugged on his arm. She apologized to the group he was currently engaged in conversation with to drag him over to the spinet piano tucked away into the corner of the room.

Eren, also occupied in conversation with Armin, Jean, and Historia, spotted his parents heading towards the piano, peaking his attention. Curiosity caused him to stop speaking mid-sentence with Historia to look at the pair whispering to each other before Grisha positioned himself on the piano bench and Carla stood at the forefront. Increasingly, others began to take notice as well.

“Are we being blessed with a Jaeger production?” Dot bellowed, clearly very drunk by how he slurred every word.

Carla smiled, raising her voice a few octaves to address the party as a whole as Grisha re-familiarized himself with the keys behind her. “We’re a little rusty, so if the performance is poor none of you are leaving here alive,” she jested, eyeballing them all wickedly, earning a few laughs from the crowd.

She careened her shoulders back and stood straighter so that her diaphragm was more open. After clearing her throat, she looked to Grisha who readied his fingers over the piano keys and nodded to her. He commenced playing the modern, jazzy tune of “Who Wouldn’t”, a popular duet performed by Aileen Stanley and Billy Murray. Carla had sang her entire childhood in the church choir and Grisha had been trained on the piano since he was a boy by his mother, making them the perfect entertainment duo at any celebration.

“Honey,” Grisha serenaded fluently.

Carla responded with a half-spoken, half-sang, “Yes, sir!”

“I’m telling you, honey,” he continued.

“Mhm,” she hummed, putting her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes for dramatic effect.

“The skies are so sunny since I’ve met you~”

The energy of their song could be felt immediately by their guests and they became thoroughly enchanted by it, clapping along with the music as Grisha danced his fingers gracefully along the piano keys and Carla paraded about, singing to her husband and then singing out to her audience. All were captivated by the performance except for one.

Eren’s grip on his drink tightened visibly and considered the act with disdain. It infuriated him how they put this much effort into appearing whimsical and in love after 25 years of marriage for others but never for themselves and especially not for their son. As they perpetuated this joyous lie in front of dozens of people, Eren recalled the countless times where Carla laid in bed for days on end while Grisha put all of his faith in medication, not once pausing to think that his love was needed just as desperately. Or how when her fits of mania unveiled themselves, where she could be a danger to herself and everyone around her, Grisha still obliged her unhealthy obsession with wanting more children when she barely had the strength to raise Eren properly.

And, to tell the truth of it plainly, Eren hadn’t seen them show any genuine desire for one another in private for many years.

Anger festered in his chest so hotly that he had to pardon himself from Historia and his friends and he walked off to the kitchen. Upon his entrance, Eren furiously gesticulated the cooks back to work when they ceased at his presence, yelling, “Oh, knock it off, would you?” He stumbled out the back door, his heightened emotions making him drunker than he had thought previously. At least he knew outside of the kitchen no one would bother him since it’s mainly where the staff smoked.

Eren struck a match and lit a cigarette, puffing on it indignantly as the brisk autumn weather cooled his body. The tobacco was a feeble attempt at cooling his demeanour, too. He stared off at the other houses that lined the street, noting how every window was aglow with yellow light. Inside, families were hosting their own terrific affairs. Eren speculated if they also manufactured their own facades. Did the husband pay for an apartment on the other side of town? Was the wife a little too comfortable with a bottle of scotch? Were the children sowed from different oats?

In his frivolous ponderings, Eren glimpsed a figure standing directly across from his house, motionless. He squinted, blowing out a cloud of smoke, and doubted his own eyes. To confirm his suspicions, Eren stepped towards the edge of the property. As he crept closer, the figure did shift to face its back to him and go on down the sidewalk, disappearing into the night. Not knowing what else to do, Eren shrugged off the incident and sucked on his cigarette one last time before grounding it out in the grass with the heel of his shoe.

As Eren made his way back inside, he heard a subdued disturbance coming from the servants quarters that sounded like objects falling. Brows furrowed, Eren neared the cottage slowly, listening carefully. As he closed in, he heard some rustling and it was unmistakable that someone was in there, which was odd seeing as how none of the employees appeared to be out of place at the party. At least, from what he had observed.

When Eren got to the window, he peeked inside as discreetly as he could and in the darkness, he could identify a pair of bare legs and a body rutting between them. Immediately, Eren knew what he was looking at but the greater question was _who_ was he looking at. Totally transfixed, Eren continued to watch with a hand over his mouth to cover his amused grin. The silhouettes eventually straightened and it was revealed that one of them, God as his witness, was Erwin Smith.

Before Eren could process the scene before him, the face of the other party appeared over Erwin’s shoulder to bite into the exposed muscle as they were being ruthlessly thrusted into. The face belonged to one of the servants, he could tell by the uniform.

A male servant.

Eren’s eyes widened and his jaw slackened and instantly he broke himself away from sight. Back against the wall of the cottage, his breathing accelerated. A barrage of questions came to his mind but the one that stuck most adamantly was which servant was it? He hadn’t gotten a proper look and, naturally, he couldn’t leave without this most critical knowledge.

He returned his prying gaze to the window and he was hypnotized once again at the two men grinding and moaning against each other, fingernails grazing over skin. When they kissed, Erwin wrapped his arms around the servant’s waist and hoisted him up and that’s when Eren could name who it was.

Levi Ackerman, the sous chef.

Strangely enough, once Eren had the information he desired he did not promptly retreat. There was a delay, a hesitancy. Their kiss was profound and electrifying, as if they would both crumple and scatter to the wind if they were not in each other's arms. It was a tempest of tongues, teeth, and a sweltering wetness that stirred up hard-forgotten images buried deep in the recesses of Eren’s mind-

He pulled himself away once more, almost like a flinch, shaking his head free of nonsense and left to go back to the party, suffering this not a second more. He returned in a daze, passing through the kitchen and into the livilness of the house without much of a regard for his surroundings. He only hoped that finding Historia and being in her light would erase the visions floating around in his head like the white orbs one sees before falling unconscious.

When Historia saw him approaching, her expression grew concerned and it was evident to Eren that he was wearing his distress on his sleeve.

“Are you not feeling well?” she inquired. “You’re looking a bite pale.”

Eren nodded stiffly in reply and asked a footman for something stronger than pinot grigio.

-

Levi and Erwin dressed without speaking and in this instance Levi was not one to complain since he didn’t feel much like talking anyways. Once his pants were zipped up and he smoothed out his chef’s jacket, he passed Erwin to leave but, unsurprisingly, a strong hand snatched his arm.

“Why the rush to escape?” Erwin’s voice purred behind him.

“I have to get back to work,” Levi said bluntly, keeping his face turned away from him.

The coldness between them did not rest well with Erwin and he squeezed Levi’s arm, a silent plea to stay. When he remained unmoving, Erwin jerked him towards him, pressing the smaller man against his chest. Erwin brushed his hair away, absorbed in those piercing gray eyes. It was an action that always had Levi’s knees weak.

He tried feebly to push Erwin away. “Stop it.”

“And why should I?”

Something about his expression and tone, all-commanding and assurant, made Levi consider the balance of power and both of their places in the hierarchy. Erwin was a man who profited from people like him. People like Sasha and Eld. People like Mina. Levi should not assume simply because he was getting fucked by the elite, that the elite cared even an ounce about his plight and, at that, his determination surged and he freed himself from Erwin’s grasps.

“Because it’s cruel,” he spat.

The bitterness in his voice took Erwin aback, his eyes widening in just the slightest of ways, and he did not attempt to grab him again, even as he went to exit the cottage a second time.

“If I invited you for a couple evenings at The Roosevelt, would you accept?” Erwin called after him.

Levi’s hands froze on the doorknob at the question and he looked over his shoulder, an invitation for him to continue. And so he did.

“You asked before if this was all we would ever be,” Erwin explained. “Unfortunately, not much is granted to us but this is an offer for something more.”

A shock, to say the least, but Levi wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of expressing it. All he awarded him was a curt, “When?”

“Two weeks from now,” he answered. “We’ll stay Monday through Wednesday.”

Silence hovered between them for only a moment before Levi shrugged and opened the door.

“I’ll think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I included the Yankees World Series conversation last chapter on a WHIM and after some research came to find out the timeline fit perfectly because the World Series is actually the first week of October. Cute, huh? lol. 
> 
> Hopefully I didn't mislead people by saying Eren and Levi would unite this chapter. Like, they united but I guess I should have said more like they would cross paths. But whatever, it's good! Now they can be on each other's radar. 
> 
> Eren seems to be hiding some demons though. Whatever could they be? :)


	6. Lord, Take Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I started grad school recently so my schedule to update this story is probably going to be more sporadic than what I've been doing before so all I ask is for some patience and I'll deliver y'all the good good.

Mina laid facing the cracked eggshell white walls of her bedroom with a deep-rooted stare, listening to the opening and closing of drawers and the rustling of fabric as Sasha dressed for work. There was an occasional pause in the momentum and in these gaps of stillness, Mina felt Sasha’s eyes glancing at her with concern, compelling her to reach out and offer sympathies but failed to find the words. Thus, a thick silence prevailed instead.

Their disconnect with each other extended beyond verbal communication. Sasha had removed her entire presence from their shared living quarters at night and the only time she ever entered was to change her wardrobe. Although Mina didn’t request it, Sasha felt it necessary to give her space to heal.

But the unspoken truth of it was that Sasha could not stand to be in that room. The air still had a weak yet distinct smell of death. It plagued her with the sight of a mother sobbing over her blue-lipped infant, a cry that was so despairing that Sasha had never heard anything of its kind before and never wanted to hear it again as long as she lived. It had her putting on her cotton slip and dress in haste. When she had gathered her hair into a high ponytail and secured it, she exited the room and shut the door with a considerate gentleness. Mina did not budge an inch once she was alone.

Shortly after, Mina perceived the clattering sound of dishes on a tray just outside her door. She recognized it as Levi setting breakfast out in the hallway for her as he had routinely done the whole week. Intense guilt washed over her, drowning her. She did not deserve everyone’s kindness. Eld, Sasha, and Levi, all with their own burdens, had allocated time to organize Thomas’s memorial, provide distance for her to grieve, and sustain her. All the while she could do nothing more than remain motionless and struggle to exist. She wanted nothing more than to rise but this sorrow had a gravity heavier than anything she had ever known, as if there were weighted chains coiled around her entire body, pulling her down, beckoning her into the cold Earth that now nursed her baby. It made thinking of the past desolating, the present unbearable, and the future shrouded.

Mina realized that she was left with two options: allow herself to be buried entirely or release herself from this prison.

Today, she decided to choose the latter.

Once she had heard Levi, Sasha, and Eld leave the tenement for the day, Mina arose from bed with her eyes lit with a sudden and resolute determination. Casting her chains aside, she stood up on her feet and wiggled her toes on the wood floor. A sigh escaped her. She went to the closet and took out her suitcase from the top shelf.

Catches freed, the suitcase sat open on the bed as Mina hurried about the room, collecting what she had, which wasn’t much to begin with, and stuffing it inside. Clothes, shoes, a couple photos, and a few pieces of jewelry that she didn’t care for but could be of value. Hidden away underneath her mattress was a rolled wad of cash. She unbound it from its string and counted it once, and then again, and then a third time to be absolutely certain of its quantity. Just about two hundred dollars. It was all of the savings she was accumulating for her and Thomas so that they could have a home of their own someday.

Mina tucked it in her pocket for later.

When everything was placed just where it needed to be, Mina hid the suitcase back in the closet and opened the bedroom door, taking the plate of fruit and granola that Levi left for her, and ate it with renewed purpose.

-

Eren found himself reliving the events of the World Series party, but rather than being outside the servant’s quarters he was inside, engulfed in the darkness, watching the outline of Levi’s figure arch in response to Erwin Smith thrusting himself between his legs. Their euphoric groans overwhelmed Eren’s senses and curiosity had him frozen in place, paying extra attention to how their hands caressed each other’s bodies. It was mesmerizing to bear witness to the sheer power of it. To observe the male physique receiving pleasure in a manner that was wholly unfamiliar. A pleasure that Eren had always wondered about in the farthest depths of his brain ever since his childhood at St. Maria’s School for Boys where turning unexpecting corners could give a student more than he bargained for and where special games were played in secret.

And that sentiment followed him all the way to Princeton.

Abruptly, the scene before him became more than a third-person view. It transformed into something tangible, something physical and real, when Levi turned his gaze to Eren, glossed over in wild passion, and reached for him. His hand grabbed him by the collar and Eren was yanked downwards to crush their lips together.

Eren eyes fluttered closed and his mouth parted to welcome his tongue.

-

“Christ!” he gasped as his eyes reopened. Erwin and Levi were gone and replaced with the sight of Eren’s bedroom ceiling. Breathing erratic, Eren touched the tips of his fingers to his lips and then to his hair which was caked in sweat. As the delirium of the dream waned, he became increasingly aware of the heat that pulsated below his abdomen. Peeking under the bedcovers, Eren saw his member standing fully erect. A blush burned fiercely on his cheeks and he swiftly put the bedcovers back down to conceal his shame. He looked up again at the ceiling, trying to lose himself in the white nothingness of it in an attempt to will the desire away. Unsuccessful in this endeavor, Eren reluctantly allowed a hand to disappear below the sheets.

He bit down on his knuckles in fear that even the slightest noise would wake all of Manhattan and they would know he was pleasuring himself after dreaming pornographic images of other men. The process was quick and as soon as he was finished, he was at the bathroom sink washing away the evidence so that he could compartmentalize it away like he always had. Eren managed to not look at himself in the mirror as he departed.

Returning to his bedroom, he dressed himself in a loose-fitted shirt and pants before heading downstairs. It was early morning so the servants weren’t bustling about yet and his parents were still sleeping. He crept down the grand staircase and went to the kitchen in search of food, giving Nanaba a fright while she was drinking her coffee.

“Monsieur,” she acknowledged in surprise, setting down her mug. “I didn’t expect you to be awake this early. Let me make you breakfast.”

Eren picked up an orange from a bowl of fruit sitting in the middle of the island and held it up for her consideration. “This will do for now, Nanaba. I’m not feeling particularly hungry this morning.” He peeled the skin and broke off a slice, popping it in his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, then ate another, noticing how Nanaba, not accustomed to doing nothing, prepared him a cup of coffee anyways. As she added cream and sugar, Eren found the nerve to ask rather stupidly, “You know the sous chef that works here?”

“Levi?”

“Yes. What do you know of him?”

Nanaba paused before turning around and placing the coffee mug in front of him. “May I ask why the sudden interest?”

Eren ate another piece of orange. “I can’t be interested in the people that work here?”

“To tell the truth of it,” she began, propping her hand on the counter and leaning her body into it. “I don’t know much about him other than the fact that we share the same home country.”

Eren sipped carefully on the steaming beverage and did not meet her eyes. “Have you ever seen him interact with anyone outside of the staff?”

“He barely speaks to the staff as is. Besides myself.”

He nodded and understood then that he wouldn’t get much more information out of her. Servants were loyal to each other. Occupational and economic strife bred a camaraderie that Eren couldn’t penetrate, especially Nanaba who was the most loyal of them all. If he pressed the issue further, it would only make him appear more suspicious than he already was now.

“Well,” Eren announced, taking his coffee and half-eaten fruit, “I was merely wondering because he seems to be the most distant of all the employees. Apologies if it came off as gossip.”

Nanaba smiled amicably at him. “Not at all, monsieur.”

As soon as Eren left the kitchen, her warm countenance dissipated and she stared at the door Eren had exited through with discontent and worry. She drank what remained in her own coffee mug and busied herself with remedial tasks like reorganizing the pantry until her fellow co-workers came meandering through the back to begin their work day, half arriving from the cottage just outside and the other half arriving from their own homes. Nanaba urged them all to take a seat at the island while she cooked them a breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage. In the midst of frying up half the carton of eggs, Levi appeared through the door.

Upon spotting him, Nanaba requested that he assist her in carrying boxes of expired goods out to the trash before he got comfortable. When they were both in the pantry and there were no expired goods to be seen, Nanaba considered him severely and spoke French so no one would hear their conversation. Immediately, Levi discerned the seriousness of the subject.

“I know it’s not my business, but you need to mind who you’re fraternizing with.”

Levi’s expression remained unchanged but his heart rate accelerated considerably inside his chest. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” he replied boredly. “Now would you move?” He shifted to move past her but she blocked his path with an extended arm, her voice low.

“The young master was asking about you this morning,” she revealed. “He asked if you’ve ever spoken to anyone outside of the staff during your time here. You may have everyone else here deceived but I am no fool. I know what you’re doing when that Russian bitch’s husband visits.”

A hint of fear flashed in Levi’s eyes, barely perceivable, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Nanaba held up a hand to stop him.

“I am here to help you,” she assured, “and to _warn you_. Exercise caution.”

Levi guard dropped in that moment and he looked at her almost pleadingly. It was the first time she had seen him vulnerable, or anything besides apathetic for that matter, and she felt sorry for him.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I will not say a word about it again.”

And she meant that.

The interaction ended there and Levi left the pantry fretfully agonizing over how Eren Jaeger could have known anything about his relationship with Erwin. He was thoroughly convinced that he harbored some kind of unseemly knowledge or speculation. In the two years Levi had been employed with the household, there was not a single instance where Eren expressed any interest in him and now, out of nowhere, he was inquiring about his social life. Levi was certain whenever Erwin and him convened that it was only the two of them. Was there ever a time where he suspected they weren’t? Were they ever careless? He mulled over these questions insistently and repeatedly as he helped prepare breakfast for the other servants and the Jaeger family as they rose from slumber.

Even as food was served to Carla, Grisha, and Eren, Levi minded the young master, eyeballing him discreetly. He could perceive as he passed in front of him on the other side of the dining table to set a plate down next to Carla that Eren’s eyes were moving to steal glances of him.

Although Levi couldn’t confirm with absolute validity, his gut churned with the gnawing sensation that he did, in fact, know something. What exactly that was, and the extent of it, was another aspect he couldn’t say confidently. What he could determine was that him and Erwin needed to be more careful. Levi thought back to the World Series party and how Erwin slipped a note to him right as he and Petra were retiring for the evening. After reading the note, Levi had disposed of it but he remembered what was written on it clearly.

_Roosevelt Hotel, October 19th. Ask for Floch._

-

Later in the afternoon, Eren made a trip to Central Park to unburden his mind.

As the weather began to cool, the first signs of autumn were taking shape in the changing leaves, painting the trees with specks of yellow and red. It enclosed him in an earthy and welcoming setting. Others were also out on a midday stroll. Men in suits chatted merrily with women in patterned dresses and wide-brimmed hats, decorated with lace and flowers; mothers passed with bundled babies in carriages; and children played jacks by the benches or partook in baseball games out on the grass, screaming and laughing in blissful content.

Eren journeyed deeper into the park and settled himself in front of a pond that was unencumbered by people. Upon seeing the water, a lackluster dark blue, he thought about how the lake at Historia’s estate was undoubtedly more eye-catching and naturally he recalled the first time he had ever visited her in North Shore. A month had come and gone in the bat of an eye due to him sincerely enjoying the time spent with her. If he had been told this at the beginning of the summer he would have laughed and considered it the unlikely shock of the century, but she truly was a marvelous creature when gifted the environment to be free.

 _Freedom_ , Eren pondered as he picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the water.

Years ago when he had escaped the confounds of Manhattan to live at Princeton, he had discovered a taste of it. He’d met gentlemen, socialites, and scholars from across the country where they would share a drink and discuss politics, economics, religion, and history. He yearned desperately to be like them but his father had been explicit when he said that he was not paying for his son to play Aristotle. He was there to study mathematics, arithmetic, business - to become a product of modern American ideals. To make money. So that’s what he did. He graduated and returned to Manhattan with the skills required to pave a way for himself, but wanted no part of it. Admittedly, Eren knew that he was taking advantage of the fact that his father was a pushover and his mother spoiled him rotten. It was why the topic of him not diving straight into a career was only touched on lightly.

Also, he was in the process of courting one of the richest women in New York.

As the summer stretched on, Eren realized how much he missed the conversations he had with the men of Princeton and how they presented themselves. How an energy that was distinctly masculine radiated from them, sometimes intoxicating him more than the whiskey. Ah, yes, the nights blurred by drink, lips brushing against lips, nothing stirring him to great feelings of love, but a definite carnal lust. It was who those lips often belonged to that he tried wretchedly to forget.

Memories flashed behind his eyes and made his body tense as he threw another stone and it plopped sadly into the pond.

“I’d imagine the goal is to skip the rocks,” a male voice said behind him.

Startled, Eren turned to see who it belonged to and was greeted by a man with blonde hair and a matching blonde beard with circular glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t someone Eren immediately recognized. The stranger detected Eren’s apprehensiveness for he put up a hand to persuade him that his intentions weren’t ill-natured. Then, he took up a stone himself, tossing it once in his hand, before skipping it across the water with great distance.

“Impressive,” Eren commented.

“All in the wrist,” the stranger explained as he rolled his hand around at the joint.

Eren regarded him again more closely and upon further inspection he had the feeling that he’d seen the man somewhere before.

“You look oddly familiar. Have we met before?”

The stranger faced him completely and stuck out his hand.

“Zeke.”

Eren grasped the hand strongly in his own.

“Eren,” he introduced. “I’ve never encountered a Zeke before. I thought perhaps we’ve met once at a club or in college.”

“Where did you attend?”

“Princeton.”

“Ah,” Zeke said in understanding and pointed to himself. “Dartmouth.” He adjusted his feet, his stance shifting into a more leisured nature now that salutations had been issued. “Well, I hope I didn’t bother you. It just seemed like an interesting scene. A grown man skipping stones by himself.”

Eren rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled embarrassingly. “I suppose I’m having a rather offbeat day.”

“Often a stranger’s advice is the best one can receive,” Zeke encouraged with a cordial smile. “It offers little bias.”

There was a hesitance. It seemed bizarre to confide in someone he had met only minutes before, but the smile Zeke graced him with was one of affability and commiseration, as if he had been a friend since boyhood. Perhaps this is what Eren needed. For someone to safely bare his secrets and die with them.

“Allow me to ask you then,” Eren started, his mind made up. “If someone had...done something they weren’t particularly proud of, something they were dreadfully ashamed of, what might that person do to live with oneself in peace?”

Zeke looked out to the pond and thought for a moment. When he finally answered his voice sounded withdrawn. “I believe we, and the world, define ourselves more by our mistakes than our accomplishments. When people are on their deathbeds, they lament about the things that have brought them remorse. Things they wish they had or had not done. This someone you speak of is not alone in their shame. It’s how you choose to confront that shame that separates the men from the cowards.”

Eren absorbed his words and nodded slowly. Zeke’s eyes then returned to him with a look of unexpected intensity.

“Don’t live your life as a coward, Eren,” he affirmed. “Live true to your mistakes as openly as you do to your victories. And maybe in your mistakes you will find truth and blessings.”

The way Zeke addressed him had Eren experiencing a mixture of wonder and uneasiness, like he was a sinner facing divine judgement. Zeke spoke to him in a manner that was unusual for someone he had just met by coincidence at the park. The feeling that Eren had seen this man before grew.

“I’m sorry, did you happen to say what your last name was?”

After a moment of silence, Zeke responded with, “Fritz.”

-

It was nearly sunset and Jean Kirschstein stood in the synagogue pews with his parents, a kippah fastened on top of his head, as the rabbi and the entire congregation sang “Adon Olam.” He could think of several better things to do on a Friday evening, like shoving his face between a woman’s breasts, but he would never hear the end of it if he missed another Sabbath.

_Adon 'olam, 'asher malakh,_  
_b'terem kol yetzir niv'ra_

“Pst!”

Jean ceased his off-key singing to glance over his shoulder where he caught the sight of familiar green eyes and long brown hair.

“Jaeger?” he whispered incredulously

-

Jean guided Eren out of the sermon expeditiously and into the empty temple lobby in a panic that his mother would crack both of their skulls open for the disturbance. She had been working diligently all year to host the rabbi at the next Easter dinner and any detriments to that plan would result in Jean meeting God a little sooner than he had anticipated.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded once they were alone.

“I was wondering if you wanted to have a drink.”

Jean stared at him dumfoundedly and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to the worship taking place behind him. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

Eren sighed, walking towards the entrance door. “I guess I’ll go alone then,” he surmised despondently.

“Wait,” Jean called and Eren halted, a grin prickling the corners of his mouth. Jean looked to his friend, then back to the congregation, then back to his friend and groaned. “At least let me sit through the Torah reading.”

-

As promised, Eren waited outside the synagogue until the Torah reading was completed. He was in the middle of smoking a cigarette when Jean came jogging down the stairs, trading the spiritual calmness of prayer for the chaos of the city. After neatly tucking his kippah into his suit pocket, he motioned to Eren who stomped out his cigarette and joined him in walking down the street for their destination was only a few blocks away. They conversed casually on the way, nothing terribly exciting, until they arrived at 52nd street where they approached a small soda shop. Eren held the door open for Jean to enter first since he usually was the one who handled all the talking. Inside the shop all appeared to be normal as customers sat at quaint tables sucking down Coca-Colas and eating deli sandwiches.

Jean sauntered up to the cashier.

“Got any herring today?” he asked.

A strange question to pose at a soda shop but the cashier beheld them with an air of comprehension and came around the counter.

“Right this way, sir,” he instructed, leading them down a narrow hallway and opening a door to an ordinary closet and shutting it firmly behind them. The closet revealed another door that was once again opened for them and Eren and Jean descended down the stairs. The further they traveled, the echoing of animated clamor and music heightened. Suddenly, the stairway gave way to a massive basement with a crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of it. To the left was a large, polished bar and to the right was an array of tables and cushioned chairs arranged in front of a stage where a band was performing exuberant jazz music and a woman danced in costume. The space was filled with cigar smoke and packed with patrons, mostly men, as they whistled agreeably at the dancer.

Jean secured a table and ordered them two gin and tonics which were served to them in lowball glasses with promptness. They nursed their drinks and admired the men on stage; one sliding a trombone, one blowing into a trumpet, one pounding on a set of drums, and one picking at a bass cello while the woman kicked her legs high in the air. The silver fringe of her dress sparkled in the light and the feather headdress she wore bounced excitably.

Halfway through her performance, Jean leaned over to Eren to restart conversation.

“Are you going to the annual fall gala at the opera house?”

“Yes,” Eren replied with annoyance. “My mother adores the opera. She insists I get tailored for new coattails.”

“You’ll be attending with the Dutchess Historia, I take it?”

Eren smirked and averted his gaze, giving Jean the answer he was searching for.

“I must say, you’ve done a spectacular job cracking that diamond exterior,” Jean complimented, leering at him over the rim of his glass with a scandalous glint in his eye. “How _does_ he do it?”

“Not in the manner in which you’re implying,” Eren assured. “She’s a lady and a Reiss.”

Jean scoffed before sipping on his gin. “Evidently you did not hold the same regard for the women who attended the parties at Princeton.”

The mentioning of Princeton had Eren downing a significant portion of his own drink, feebly hoping that the gin would grant him courage. It would seem that the opportunity to discuss his misdeeds had presented itself all on its own as if the universe wanted to purge him of his troubles. _Don’t live as a coward_ , that Zeke Fritz had said. _Confront your shame._

“Speaking of Princeton,” Eren began and sat his drink down nervously. “There are…” he trailed off to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “There are particular memories that I’ve buried away that have resurfaced lately-”

“I’m certain whatever memories are ailing you were buried for a reason.”

Eren looked at Jean when he became aware of how his voice had sharpened. When meeting his gaze, Eren realized that his eyes had done the same. The entirety of his demeanor was threatening and Eren did not take kindly threats. He rose to the challenge with a challenge of his own and his eyes narrowed as well.

“Are we just never to speak of it then?” he inquired harshly.

Jean didn’t respond and instead drained the rest of his gin and tonic and stared Eren down, lips pursed. When Eren went to speak again, Jean stopped him.

“Enough, Eren.”

The tension between them mounted and before it had the chance to boil over the edge, the woman who had been dancing approached them cheerfully, the fringe of her dress swaying as she strutted up to the table.

“Jeanie, baby!” she cried as she dropped down on Jean’s lap and crossed her legs, putting a slender arm around the back of his shoulders. “I’ve missed you. Where’ve ya been?”

Jean’s attitude switched in an instant and he spoke to her with all the flirtatious benevolence in the world. “You know my life is fretfully boring without you, darling,” he crooned while squeezing her sides and she squealed in delight.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said frivolously and rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you say that to all your girlfriends. Get me a cigarette, would you?”

Jean obliged her request and reached into his suit for his metal cigarette case. He popped it open and Jean, ever the gentlemen, held it out to her invitingly so she could have the first pick. She plucked one out and pinched the filter between a manicured index and middle finger. Jean took one for himself before snapping the case shut and returning it to his pocket. It was then that the dancer looked at Eren, intrigued, and elbowed Jean.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your friend?”

“This is Eren,” he replied with an disinterested tone, plainly still upset with him. He didn’t bother to introduce her which meant he didn’t consider her important enough to do so.

“Well, Eren,” she said to him, “your mother must have bred with Adonis himself. You’re absolutely gorgeous. Light my smoke?”

Eren dug through his pocket for a set of matches and struck one to a flame. He cupped a protective hand around it as the dancer leaned over, her breasts almost spilling out of her bodice, as she puffed on the end until the cigarette lit. Her eyes were casted seductively downward. Under normal circumstances, he would fuel her flirtation but he was currently honed in on Jean, picturing when they would go to college parties and combine forces to rile up women, only to go back to the dorms at late hours in a stupor, take that energy, and unleash it on each other.

-

Jean and Eren didn’t stay at the speakeasy for as long as they typically would. Eren’s half-confession succeeded in dampening the mood and they were out well before midnight. They parted hospitably enough, saying their goodbyes, but it was awkward and stiff. Now ambling down the sidewalk by himself, Eren’s irritation with Jean’s reaction to his divulgence reverted back into the usual humiliation and he wanted nothing more than to disappear, thinking how unrealistic it was for him to assume that any mention of those memories would sit comfortably with Jean. He was a fool to have expected something different.

In his musings, Eren accidentally bumped into a woman on the street carrying a suitcase. The catches unhinged themselves on impact and the contents within tumbled out onto the concrete. Eren instinctively crouched down to help, apologizing profusely.

“I’m awfully sorry, miss. I didn’t see you at all.”

“No, it’s fine,” she insisted as she gathered up her clothing items. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

As Eren was recollecting her belongings, he happened upon a photo that displayed the women before him with a baby boy in her arms. He smiled as he handed it back to her. “Beautiful child,” he praised. “Is he yours?”

She looked at the photo with a profound sadness before gently placing it back with the rest of her things. “Yes,” she answered softly, closing the suitcase and securing the catches before walking off into the night without another utterance. Eren noted how her hands shook profusely and he wondered as her back faded into the late evening crowd why his day had been so full of strange encounters.

-

Saturday, the next morning, Levi sat at the kitchen table of his apartment as Sasha boiled water in the stovetop kettle for tea. He had purchased a newspaper off the paperboy for a penny and he was skimming through it to pass time. There was nothing of great scrutiny to report except Herbert Hoover’s recent election to office.

“I think Mina is beginning to feel a bit like her old self again,” Sasha said from the counter optimistically. “I noticed she ate all of her breakfast yesterday when I was changing for bed.”

Levi hummed approvingly, thumbing through the newspaper.

Not expecting any heartfelt display of emotion from him, Sasha left the topic at that, but she could reason from the way his features relaxed that Levi was relieved to hear it. As she waited for the kettle to whistle, she looked out the window to observe the people idling in the streets below, huddling into small groups. Her attention was ensnared and she recognized right away from the body language that gossip was spreading.

“Hm,” she mused aloud. “I wonder what’s happening.”

“Someone probably passed a kidney stone the size of the Empire State Building, I’m sure.”

Sasha laughed and on cue, the kettle began to scream. She poured the steaming water into three mismatched cups and strained tea leaves in each, turning them all an amber color. In the middle of her preparations, Eld entered the front door wordlessly from washing downstairs and joined Levi at the table.

“Well, don’t just come in here and say nothing!” Sasha exclaimed at him.

Knowing she was referring to the gossip, he answered her evenly. “Founder’s Fabrics caught fire last night. Appears to be arson. The fire was containable, though. Everyone should be back at work tomorrow.”

Sasha shoulders slackened in disappointment. “Oh, well that’s not nearly as fun as the pig incident.” Recalling that whole scandal caused the two men to smile tightly and fight back laughter. Sasha set everyone’s tea cups down and pulled up a chair of her own. As they settled into a congenial silence and drank their morning refreshments, the same reckoning came to them all at once. They glanced between one another in mortified apprehension.

Levi slammed his newspaper down and they all ran to Mina’s bedroom with impressive speed. Once at her door, Levi knocked on it rapidly and persistently, Sasha and Eld hovering behind him. When they didn’t receive a quick enough response, he twisted the doorknob, which fortunately was unlocked, and he barged in himself.

The room was empty and her bed had been aptly made. Awareness of the situation consumed Levi in an instant, but he ripped open her drawers nonetheless to find nothing in them at all.

“Shit!”

“There’s a note!” Sasha gasped and appeared next to Levi to snatch the piece of paper resting on top of the dresser. She unfolded it and scanned the handwritten words. Eyebrows furrowed together in worry, she handed it to Levi and Eld and they read it simultaneously to themselves, muttering as they went, and were confronted with the information that Mina had left in the night to take a train out of New York.

“She must be taking the Main Line to New Brunswick,” Sasha deduced when they were finished reading. “That train doesn’t leave until midday. If we hurry, we can catch her.”

Not needing to be told twice, Levi was the first one to leave the room to find his shoes.

-

Levi, Sasha, and Eld got fully dressed and rushed down the street to catch the bus line that would chart them straight to Grand Central in Midtown. On the bus ride there, Levi’s knees jittered anxiously in fear that they wouldn’t make it in time. He contemplated then why he cared so much and he was berated with images of every woman who had ever left him. He recounted the day he abandoned Riquewihr. It was twenty-five years ago yet it existed in his mind as if it were yesterday. The smell of horseshit as he sat on the back of a carriage that would carry them to the next populous town over where they would head West by locomotive. His mother weeping as she held his hand for as long as possible until the coachman snapped the reigns and they wheeled down the cobblestone road.

“Take care of him, Kenny,” she begged. “Take care of my boy.”

What a mess he made of that. Not only did he damage one child beyond repair, but he had taken in another and allowed her to drown as well. Mikasa had been so hellbent to break away from Kenny’s toxicity that she had run off in the night never to be seen since. Just like Mina.

Levi was determined not to fail another woman in his life again.

When they arrived at Grand Central, it was swarming with weekend travelers. In the main lobby, the ticket lines stretched wall-to-wall with no end in sight. Levi directed Sasha and Eld to inspect each one to see if Mina was standing in any of them while he would go check the train platforms in hopes that she wasn’t already in the queue to board. At that, they dispersed.

Levi peered up at the signs and scoured them to locate which platform was headed to New Brunswick out of forty-four different options. In his urgency, the letters all merged together and he had to shake the fog out of his head before trying again.

Platform 5 - 12:00 p.m. New Haven, Connecticut

Platform 18 - 11:15 a.m. Saratoga, New York

Platform 24 - 11:30 a.m. New Brunswick, New Jersey

 _Twenty-four_ , Levi chanted inwardly as he followed the signs that would take him in the direction he needed. He sprinted across corridors and down stairwells, pushing through pedestrians and apologizing breathlessly when they cursed at him. Once the signs ceased and he was where he was supposed to be, the train awaited passengers on the track, smoke pluming from the exhaust chimney. A significant boarding crowd had formed and Levi scouted the line. Up towards the front, about a dozen people away from being the first on the train, was Mina. Their eyes caught each other at the exact same moment.

“Levi-?”

Without saying a word, he snatched her by her coat and sniffed the fabric. The scent of campfire and gas permeated in his nostrils and his eyes widened, voice hushed. “It was you.”

Mina’s shock at seeing him dissolved into one of absolute calm and clarity that only confirmed Levi’s accusation. He began to implore her to reconsider her actions.

“We know you have suffered an incredible loss but this…” he screwed up his hold on her coat, “this is not the answer.”

“It is,” she said wistfully.

“Where are you even planning to go?”

“To West Virginia.”

“What are you going to do there?”

“I’m going to say my peace to Thomas Wagner.”

“And then _what_?” he demanded exasperatedly.

Mina simply shrugged. “I don’t know, Levi. That’s the glory of it. All I know is that there’s nothing left for me here.” To comfort him, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close, her eyes focused ahead, melancholy but hopeful of the future. “Thank you.”

Her voice reverberated in his ears, reminding him of the heaviness and despondency of church bells, and he did what he should have done the night she first drew him into her embrace; the night before Thomas had died and she was but a child herself searching for solace. He did what he should have done more of the day he parted from his mother. He did what he should have done when Mikasa left as Kenny was dying in his bed.

He hugged this girl and spoke to her with love.

“Know that you always have a family here,” he whispered near the side of her cheek and he felt her arms embrace him tighter.

One of the conductors came out of the cars and stood on the platform. Hand cupped around his mouth, he bellowed, “Now boarding for New Brunswick!”

At that, Mina and Levi parted and stared at each other in a pensive silence before Levi offered to hold her suitcase. As they waited and the line inched forward, Mina took his free hand in her own and clutched it, her heart ascending knowing she was about to leave this miserable city for good and anything was possible now. When it was Mina’s turn to enter the train car, one of the workers grabbed her suitcase from Levi and hauled it away. She handed her ticket to the conductor and he punched a hole in the paper and returned it, nodding her on up the steps.

Mina couldn’t bring herself to utter a goodbye and instead she squeezed Levi’s hand and then slowly let it go. The feeling of her hand leaving his own ached of a loneliness he had experienced before.

Levi backed away from the line and stood by the side of the train car with his hands now hidden in his pockets, watching Mina through the window as she situated herself in her seat. He waited there for a half hour until all the passengers had disappeared inside and the train released a piercing whistle, signaling its departure. As the hefty iron wheels began to rotate, Mina waved warmly through the glass.

Levi removed a hand from one of his pockets and waved back.

The train was coasting out of the station when Eld and Sasha emerged next to him, panting and exhausted from running all the way from the lobby. Noticing Levi’s forlorn expression, Eld concluded that Mina must be on the train, but Sasha was the one who asked forthright.

“She was on that one, wasn’t she?”

Levi acknowledged her question by quietly turning around and leaving the two of them behind on the now empty platform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter or two is gonna be very intense and I'm scared to write it honestly, but I MUST. Erwin and Levi will be spending their time at the Roosevelt. 
> 
> Also, if anyone who has been following this story doesn't know, I posted a smutty Ereri one-shot called "Disaronno" if you wanna check it out. I'm real proud of it. May turn that into a series as well.


	7. And So We Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: RAPE, DRUG USE, AND DOMESTIC ABUSE
> 
> Please turn back now if you’re not comfortable.
> 
> Oh, and I love how last chapter I was like "iM gOnNa Be BuSy In GrAd ScHoOl" and I literally updated a week later. lol. I'm a slave to creativity, what can I say? Also, school JUST started, too. I probably spoke too soon.

The Monday morning before Erwin was expected to be at The Roosevelt with Levi, he was in his office with his project manager, Gunther Schultz, discussing current contracts before his upcoming absence for most of the week. Both of them had cigarettes tucked into the corners of their mouths as they sorted through their own stacks of paperwork, the Smiths & Sons railyard and the Hudson River serving as a backdrop through the large steel frame window behind Erwin’s desk.

“I got a wire from the lead in Hartford and they started laying down the ballast late last week.” Erwin set aside one document to pick up another. “However, there’s been a delay in Albany because the damn tamping machine is on the fritz. You may have to send one of our engineers out there to take a look at it.”

Gunther scribbled down the information on a notepad in acknowledgement.

Erwin plucked out his cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray beside him. “I don’t believe there’s much else of great import to speak on. You know how it is with the winter season coming up.”

Gunther finished up the remainder of his notes before flipping the binding closed in his lap. “That’ll do then, sir,” he said definitively and stood up to leave. “When did you say you would be returning?”

“Thursday morning.”

“Going anywhere special?”

“Visiting family upstate,” Erwin lied. “A boring affair to be sure, but I like to make a trip out there once a year.”

Gunther graced him with a good-natured smile. “Well, hopefully you’ll enjoy some time off, Mr. Smith.”

-

Levi had also given Carla notice that he would be away from the household until Thursday morning and she was thrilled at the news that he was finally taking some time off of work, rambling on about the importance of enjoying one’s youth while they could. When she inquired about his plans, he merely said an old friend was coming into the city.

After learning about Eren’s potential suspicions, Levi found himself in a perpetual state of apprehension. Although the possibility of someone knowing where he was going and the reason why was awfully slim, he couldn’t help but check over his shoulder every few minutes during his journey to The Roosevelt from the bus station to confirm that no one was following him. His nerves only intensified once he arrived.

Levi stood before the hotel with a small suitcase in his hand which was packed aptly for his two-night stay. His neck craned back as he beheld the 19-story high-rise. Nothing was particularly interesting about it. It looked like any other building in Midtown. However, the people coming in and out it were anything but ordinary; a revolving door of custom-fitted suits, freshly shined leather shoes, elbow-length gloves, diamonds, pearls, and embellished hats. Levi had failed to convince himself it wasn’t too late to turn around and go home for he braved his way into the building anyways. A mutt amongst pure breds.

When he passed through the threshold, Levi climbed a short flight of stairs and the space opened into the main lobby where the walls stretched long and wide, supported by squared pillars. The ceilings were paneled and filigree sculptures rested in the center of each one. Oriental rugs decorated the marble floors and were accented with plush couches and glossy white tables. It was relatively early in the afternoon so there were minimal guests loitered about which Levi was grateful for.

As directed by Erwin, Levi approached the front desk and asked for Floch in an unsure tone. The receptionist recognized the name and disappeared to locate him. Barely a minute passed before a younger man in his early twenties, reasonably handsome, with striking red hair came into Levi’s line of vision. He told Floch his reservations should be under Smith.

Hearing that, a peculiar flicker of emotion flashed in Floch’s eyes that Levi couldn’t quite pinpoint and it managed to make him uneasy, but the man regarded him politely nonetheless and came around the counter to take his bag and guide him towards the elevator. The operator nodded to both of them as they entered.

“The penthouse suite,” Floch announced and the operator pressed the top button on the grid to the very highest room in the hotel.

The brass doors closed and him and Levi stood in silence. Not that Levi minded much since he took no delight in small talk. When the elevator reopened there was a small corridor leading to the penthouse entrance. Floch exited first, Levi following, and he dug the master key set out of his pocket and unlocked the door, allowing it to gently swing open and gestured Levi to go in before him.

The suite was enveloped with a natural sunlight from the arched windows that lined the western wall. There was a sitting area adorned with velvet sofas and loveseats and an adjoined dining room with a long mahogany table and hand-carved wood chairs that could seat at least eight people. Floch asked where Levi would like his bag and he instructed him to set it down by the door with a hesitance, feeling a bit odd to be the one receiving these manner of questions and being expected to give the orders.

“Do you need anything else, sir?”

“No, you are, uh...dismissed,” Levi muttered.

At that, Floch bowed his head slightly and departed. Levi was utterly alone in a penthouse that was, by process of elimination, all his at the present. He wandered around leisurely and deliberately, hands tracing the dining table and the backs of the chairs, scrutinizing them. Next, he went to the windows and swept back the drapes, peering down 19 stories below to see pedestrians ambling about like ants. He could understand now how someone might revel in a great power being erected so high above everyone else.

Finally, he made his way to the master bedroom that housed a king-sized bed with a lush beige comforter and fluffed pillows. Levi mused about how he and Erwin would share the same bed for the first time ever and was embarrassed to admit a girlish excitement and nervousness bubbled inside of him as if he were a virgin bride.

Attached to the bedroom was a spacious bathroom with a clawfoot bathtub and a counter equipped with two sinks and corresponding mirrors. Levi peeked in to give it a once over. Satisfied, he returned his attention back to the bed that perforated a welcoming ambience. Succumbing to it, Levi collapsed onto the mattress and outwardly sighed at how it hugged him. It was a pleasant change from his single, lumpy bed in the tenements.

It was so comfortable that he fell into a prolonged sleep.

-

Levi awoke to the sensation of a hand brushing the hair away from his forehead. The touch was distinguishable. Even in sleep, Levi knew it was Erwin. He batted his eyes open, unalarmed. Once his sight adjusted, Levi was surprised to see that it was evening time. The only light source in the bedroom came from a lamp on the bedside table that had been switched on by Erwin and beyond him, outside the window, the other buildings on East 45th street shined like modern constellations. Erwin sat on the edge of the bed looking down at Levi fondly. When their eyes met, total comprehension of their current situation emerged. At last they were alone to be anything they wanted, to do anything they wanted. Erwin bent down and captured Levi’s lips in his own and even though they had kissed a hundred times before, this one felt different, more liberating.

Erwin, however, wanted to savor the intimacy that was inevitably coming for later and he parted from Levi shortly after.

“Are you hungry?”

Levi stretched out on the bed like a feline after a long nap and then propped his head up on an upturned palm. “Famished, actually.”

Erwin rose and motioned him to come along. With a groan, Levi rolled off the bed and onto his feet. He trailed Erwin out into the dining area where supper had already been brought and served, arranged nicely on the dining table on silver platters. Levi surveyed the food. Apple glazed pork chops with pureed potatoes and carrots cooked in butter and brown sugar. It seemed more than edible and he went to sit down, but Erwin stopped him so that he could pull out his chair.

It was a gentlemanly act that Levi wasn’t accustomed to and he blushed faintly as Erwin scooted him in. He then joined Levi adjacently at the head of the table. Before eating, Erwin grabbed the bottle of red wine resting amongst the food, uncorked it, and poured Levi a glass first and then one for himself. Holding the stem of the glass in his fingers, Erwin tilted it forward, causing Levi to do the same so that both of their drinks clinked together softly, amorously.

“How’d you get this in here?” Levi wondered as he touched the rim of the wine glass to his lips.

Erwin smirked. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

Levi tasted the wine, aged and dry, while he regarded Erwin with playfully suspicious eyes before setting his glass down and picking up his knife and fork. He cut into the pork chop, making certain to get pieces of glazed apple, and scooped it into his potatoes before taking a bite. The meat melted in his mouth as he chewed it and was seasoned perfectly.

“How is it?”

Levi shrugged. “I could cook it better.”

Erwin chuckled at his passive response and proceeded to take his own knife and fork in hand and eat his dinner.

The two didn’t converse much after. Partially because the circumstances, the unbridled freedom, was entirely foreign to them, and partially because they had similar pensive dispositions and didn’t relish in idle chatter. The quiet was agreeable and warm. After they had finished their main course and were on their second glass of wine, Erwin went to the trolley that had carted their food up from the hotel kitchen and grabbed a small dish of chocolate mousse with sliced strawberries. Levi lifted his spoon and reached for a helping but Erwin gently stole the utensil out of his hand and stuck it in the mousse himself and then held it out to feed him.

Levi took the spoon wholly in his mouth and stared up at Erwin in an unbreakable, suggestive trance. He swallowed the mousse with care and licked his lips purposefully.

Suddenly, dessert was horribly uninteresting.

“Bedroom?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

They abandoned whatever food was left at the table and Erwin led Levi by the hand to the bedroom where he shut the door and pulled the curtains closed.

The moment they became completely confined in that room, only the two of them, with no restraints, no qualms, no fear, Levi wanted to have Erwin in every manner he had ever dreamed of. Unfulfilled potential had yet to be met. He instantly bridged the gap between them, ensnaring his arms around his muscular neck and made a move to kiss him but, again, Levi was pushed away and frustration festered visibly.

Erwin stepped back from the embrace and looked over Levi with a stare that could run anyone’s blood cold. His lust was dark and stirred from deep within and the voice that came forth sent shivers down Levi’s spine.

“Strip.”

Levi hastily shucked off his vest and tossed it in a random direction before unbuttoning his shirt.

“Slowly,” Erwin commanded.

The sheer intensity of his tone had Levi obeying without protest and his fingers moved at a more measured pace, popping the buttons open with consideration while Erwin’s eyes enchanted him like a witch’s spell. Levi peeled the shirt off his shoulders one at a time and let it drop to the floor, exposing his torso. He stood waiting for the next instruction but instead Erwin copied his actions and gradually removed his own shirt until his broad chest and sculpted abdomen were bare as well. Erwin then nodded to Levi who processed the wordless message and he toed off his shoes and socks. Again, Erwin copied.

Levi’s hands lingered over his pants momentarily before he unbuttoned those as well and slid them off his hips and down his legs. They pooled at his feet and he stepped out of them. Erwin, as expected, did the same and now they were both standing across from each other in only their undergarments.

Heart thumping excitedly in his chest, Levi hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear and watched intently as Erwin mimicked him exactly. Taking a breath, Levi let those drop to his ankles, too, and all at once, they were fully nude and it left them gawking at each other in wide-eyed wonder. All the instances where they had met in confidence, in a rushed frenzy, they ran the risk of being caught. Being able to dress quickly was a necessity. There always had been some sort of blockade restricting them, but now that blockade was broken and they finally were able to see each other, _really_ see each other. The air seized in Levi’s throat at the beauty that was Erwin Smith. It was as if he had been carved by Michaelangelo himself.

Erwin was the first to approach and the air only further shrank inside Levi’s lungs as he forgot how to exhale. Hands cupped his chin, tilting his neck upwards, and Erwin claimed his lips, gliding his tongue inside to explore his mouth. Levi was so consumed in it that he didn’t perceive Erwin’s hands had left his face until one was already around the small of his back and the other gripped his thigh, hoisting him up so that his legs wrapped around him. Erwin carried Levi over to the bed, their tongues still intertwined together, and they fell into the softness of it.

Limbs entangled around each other and their skin burned hot. Chest brushed against chest, thighs against ribs, fingertips against throats. They touched each other in ways that were new and electrifying. Erwin kissed every inch of Levi’s nakedness: eyelids, cheeks, neck, chest, navel, thighs, cock. His body was tiny and lithe like a woman’s but also hardened like a man’s, blurring the lines in a marvelous and fascinating way. Erwin’s mouth and fingers worked simultaneously to prepare him, appreciating every second, and taking his time.

Levi arched as Erwin sucked and stretched him. He moaned noisily which had him clasping both hands over his mouth instinctively until he realized that he could be as loud as he desired to be. Those hands instead twisted themselves into the bedsheets and he loosened his mouth and permitted all the sounds of pleasure to escape him, filling the room with it. Erwin’s member pulsated agonizingly hearing them and he couldn’t stand to not be inside Levi any longer. He positioned himself between those pale legs, spreading them wide, and he slid into him with a long groan that mingled with Levi’s.

That night they didn’t fuck or ride each other like wild animals. They made love to one another. Slowly, passionately, and genuinely. Levi felt the weight and resolution in every thrust, each one taking his breath away. He caught Erwin’s face and pressed their foreheads together and his legs tightened their hold around him hoping to merge their bodies together forever.

“Gorgeous boy,” Erwin crooned to him. “Let me hear you, darling. Tell me what you want.”

“I want-” he was interrupted by his own gasp as Erwin plunged into that sweet spot. “I want all of you.”

An orgasm mounted inside of him and Levi’s cries rose higher and higher, hitting a crescendo when white, hot ecstasy burst within and released from his cock onto his stomach. Erwin reduced his momentum as Levi experienced his climax and ceased entirely when it faded away.

Erwin kissed him, still hard and buried in his warmth. “Again?”

Levi bit his bottom lip and nodded and Erwin resumed driving himself into him. Since his prostate had been stimulated previously, another orgasm built in half the time as before. Already abused and sensitive, when Levi reached his peak for the second time, it tingled throughout every nerve and he threw his head back into the mattress.

“Shit,” he panted and then again more desperately as pleasure racked his body, “shit, _shit_!”

His eyes disappeared to the back of his head as he lost himself to it.

Erwin, somehow, was not done. When he noticed Levi relaxing as his second climax dissipated, he pushed his knees up and rolled his hips into him some more, wanting Levi to cum until he couldn’t bear it anymore.

Twice he came after that. Levi’s moans became erratic and hoarse and breathless until they transformed into overstimulated sobs. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes, his legs went numb, and he felt like he was floating in water. He was coated in his own semen but now he had none left to give.

Ears ringing, absolutely spent, he managed to hear Erwin say from above, “One more.”

Levi shook his head feebly, chest heaving. “No,” he mumbled and covered his face with his arm. “I can’t take it, Erwin.”

Erwin pulled back the arm that shielded him and kissed his wrist tenderly. “One more.” It didn’t seem like a request and before Levi could object, Erwin was rutting into him again, planting a hand on his collarbone. Levi barely had the energy to do anything besides grunt painfully as Erwin achieved his own orgasm, his seed expelling into that delicious heat. The hand on Levi’s collarbone unexpectedly clenched down on his throat, squeezing his windpipe as he rode out his rapture. Levi gripped onto it as he let out a strangled cough, trying to ease up the pressure but it was locked in place with an iron resolve. It wasn’t until the euphoria in Erwin subsided that he relinquished him, falling beside him on the bed, puffing heavily and wiping the sweat from his brow.

Levi’s legs shook severely when he attempted to move them and he side-eyed Erwin peculiarly as he grazed the area of his throat that Erwin had choked. He pushed aside whatever queerness he was feeling and scooted himself next to Erwin, tucking himself against him and falling asleep for the second time that evening as the man toyed with his hair.

-

The next morning, Levi and Erwin bathed together in the clawfoot tub, laying in opposite directions so that they could face each other. Erwin was so hilariously tall that he had to bend one of his knees and drape the other over the edge in order to fit which gave Levi some amusement. After a laborious evening, the hot water was a much-needed relief on their muscles. Levi sank further into the tub while Erwin massaged one of his feet.

He speculated if this was what bliss was.

After the bath, they lounged on the bed in soft white robes and ate leftover strawberries from last night’s dessert. The silence, however, did not carry over and they started to converse fluidly. Another new experience for them both.

Levi bit into a strawberry and the juices filled his mouth. “Who was your first kiss?”

Erwin raised a perplexed eyebrow and plucked another strawberry from the silver tray for himself. “What are you, a school girl?”

“I bet it was a woman,” he replied with an all-knowing tone.

“It was.”

“She got a name?”

“Marie,” Erwin answered and smiled slightly at the memory. “I kissed her in church when I was nine.”

Levi smirked. “Sinner.” He took one of the last strawberries and spun it by the stem between his thumb and index finger, appearing thoughtful. After a pause, he asked, “When did you first kiss a boy?”

Erwin’s features tensed fleetingly and he recomposed himself, but instead of responding, he evaded the question entirely. “Maybe answer some questions yourself, hm?”

“Ask some then,” Levi quipped.

“When did you lose your virginity?”

“Sixteen,” he said matter-of-factly and then added, “To a woman. The boys came later when I was nineteen.”

“Do you miss France?”

The personal nature of the inquiry took Levi aback but he replied nonetheless.

“Yes.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

“Someday.”

Erwin considered him for a moment, analyzing him. A hint of concern formed when Erwin broke his gaze to look off in another direction, almost reluctantly. “Are you willing to try something new?”

“I’m not entirely sure what you mean,” Levi retorted carefully.

To clear his doubts, Erwin got up from the bed and retreated out into the sitting area. Levi listened to the echoed sounds of a case being unclasped and hands fumbling about. When he returned, Erwin carried a green sack and offered it to Levi who received and studied it in confusion.

“What the hell is it?”

“An expensive party favor.”

_Drugs_ is what he meant to say but the implication wasn’t missed on Levi.

Levi had never been a drug user and alcohol was a treat he only ever enjoyed casually. This was because he never wanted to be out of control of his body and always wanted to be in a state of crystal clear judgement. When judgement is clouded, people take advantage of it. At least, that’s what Kenny had instilled in him even though he regularly drank like a fish himself. _Follow my advice, not my actions,_ he would say.

Well, to hell with him.

Levi strangely trusted Erwin even though he had never given him a true reason to. He hadn’t really given a reason not to either. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Erwin at all and Levi was simply tired of living in actuality. The recent loss of Mina from his life and worrying about Eren’s potential knowledge of him and Erwin’s relationship, which he wouldn’t dare bring up, drained him.

Perhaps this was something that was needed, a gift from karma, and this was the best situation he was going to get to experiment in.

Levi turned the bag around in his grasp. It was light, clearly full of air, and there was a nozzle attached to it.

“Suck the air out of it,” Erwin advised.

Tentatively, Levi put the nozzle to his mouth and sucked in a deep breath. Whatever the contents were, it tasted sweet like burnt caramel. Erwin encouraged him to do it once more. And so he did.

As he gave the bag back to Erwin who also inhaled in the same method, a heavy, intense and physical ecstasy scattered from his chest and down his limbs to the very tips of his toes. It intoxicated his brain and all his surroundings slowed. A fit of giggles simmered in his throat and uncharacteristic laughter eluded him. It reverberated bizarrely in his ears but the euphoria, the pure, unadulterated euphoria, masked any insecurities he had and he experienced the most overwhelming happiness he’d ever felt in his whole life.

-

The happiness was also formidable and made him feel insane, but Erwin beguiled him to consume more whenever the high showed signs of evaporating. Most of the day passed in a foggy, rose-colored dream, his memory only allotting a few snippets.

Him and Erwin out on the couch in the afternoon sunlight, tracing fingers against each other’s flesh. Not sexually, but in scientific amazement.

Erwin switching on the phonograph stationed in the corner of the room and playing a record containing music that Levi couldn’t recognize, but the piano keys sang energetically so the two of them danced together and whirled in their jubilation.

Levi also recalled slumping in one of the loveseats so that he could examine his palms and all the lines that ran through them, and then noticed similar lines in the cushion he sat on. He picked at the threading in content.

While he was busy with pulling apart the precious needlework, he perceived Erwin drawing closer and when he looked up, he saw Erwin and Floch, giving him a tremendous shock and his eyes widened in horror but Erwin seemed tranquil as ever.

“I just spoke to young Floch here and he’s also interested in our fun,” he had said.

Levi wasn’t certain how he responded to that comment but it must have been favorable for the next scene that was etched in his mind was him naked in the bedroom and kissing Floch while Erwin watched from the corner by the window. The drugs elevated his senses tenfold. Levi was too consumed by it to properly reason the absurdity. All he knew was that he didn’t want it to end and he clutched the bellboy feverishly for more.

Similarly to every other action that had taken place that day, everything that transpired in the bedroom after that was only available in a montage of images.

Eventually, all three of them were unclothed and caressing each other. Levi was situated in Erwin’s lap with his head rolled back onto his shoulder as Floch sucked his cock. “Look at him,” Erwin murmured, angling Levi’s head downward so he could witness the red hair bobbing up and down on his length. Pleasure mixed with a growing sickness in the pit of his stomach.

Then Levi was on all fours and the slapping sound of skin colliding against skin flooded the room as Erwin pounded his hips into him violently and Levi reciprocated oral to Floch, being filled in every way. He gagged and choked and drool poured down his chin as a result of Erwin’s hand on the back of his neck shoving him down as far as he could go. Above him, Levi listened to the wet sounds of Erwin and Floch exchanging sensual kisses.

Somewhere out in the hazy obscurity of it all, a sliver of Levi’s conscience was screaming at him but it was drowned out by sensory overload.

The last memory Levi had was him laying on the bed, eyes glazed over in exhaustion, as Erwin paid the hotel worker for his discretion.

-

Some time later, it could have been minutes, hours, or weeks, Erwin drew Levi another bath and helped him into the water, legs shaking and head fuzzy. Erwin left him alone to soak and the steaming hot water did well in clearing his head and shaking off the remnants of an all-day high. The artificial rhapsody waned and all Levi was left with was a profound feeling that he couldn’t quite comprehend. At first, he thought it to be shame, but that wasn’t quite it. It was something deeper, more indescribable. It was as if a gear had been switched in his brain and everything he saw was suddenly repulsive to him, including himself.

As he scrubbed his body, covered in bite marks, he tried to chalk these burdensome emotions up to his serotonin being depleted.

Once he was clean, Levi had to convince himself to get out of the bathtub. He didn’t want to move at all. He wasn’t certain what he wanted, truly, in that moment but not feeling this way would be a decent start. At some point he did manage to coax himself out of the bathwater and dry himself off. Not wanting to be naked anymore, Levi went directly to the bedroom and put on a plain shirt and pants. He went to the door and hesitated. _What is this_ , he asked himself insistently.

He shook his head free and walked out into the sitting area where Erwin was positioned on the edge of one of the couches, inhaling more of the substance in the green bag. Levi’s conscience, again, was screaming at him and he ignored it.

“Maybe slow down on that,” he counseled harshly and the suggestion went unheeded. The more Levi looked at Erwin, the more those internal gears moved and grinded against each other, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the candid manner in which that bellboy had been brought up to partake in such wicked debauchery.

_Ask for Floch_ , the note had instructed.

It clicked then.

Levi was not the first person who had been invited here and Floch hid Erwin’s skeletons by being a paid, and thus blackmailed, participant. Levi suppressed the urge to vomit as Erwin lit a cigarette.

“Don’t invite that bellboy up here again,” Levi said loudly so Erwin wouldn’t fail to hear it.

Erwin turned to him with apprehension in the back of his eyes but asked casually, “Is everything alright?”

Levi yearned to say what he was really feeling but, truthfully, he didn’t fully know himself yet. “I don’t…” he petered off, struggling to find the right words, and instead abandoned the task altogether. “Yes, it’s fine. I just want it to be the two of us for now on.”

Erwin exhaled a plume of blue smoke. “Of course.”

“I was wondering if maybe we could get out of this hotel,” Levi said abruptly.

“And go where?”

Levi shrugged, frustration consuming him and he wondered if he wanted to go with Erwin at all. “I don’t know. The cabaret? To dinner? Anywhere, really.”

Anywhere but here.

“Are you that tired of me already?” Erwin asked mirthfully.

“Not, quite the contrary, I want to be out with you in society for once.”

Levi deduced then that what he actually wanted was for Erwin to prove himself. To prove that Levi was more than a secret. To show an ounce of goodness. To confirm that the Erwin Smith who had fed him chocolate mousse and made love to him the night before was the real him. He wanted - no, _needed_ \- Erwin to present himself as something wonderful so that this looming terror would go away. For once, Levi needed something in his life to be worthwhile and it felt like it was slipping away.

His conscience kept on screaming.

“You know that can’t happen.”

“We’ll go to Brooklyn or Newark,” Levi insisted.

“I’m not going to Brooklyn,” Erwin countered.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“Oh,” Levi scoffed, anger rising within. “I see. I’m good enough to be fucked by you and the bellboy in a penthouse suite but I’m not good enough for Brooklyn.”

“Don’t be willfully dense, Levi. If we are seen together-”

“You didn’t mind the bellboy seeing us together.”

Erwin shifted on the couch in palpable irritation and his tone reflected the same. He snuffed out his cigarette. “Did you not want him here?” he demanded. “Because I didn’t hear many complaints while you were moaning on his cock.”

Then and there, Levi decided to turn his back to him and return to the bedroom. Erwin continued to stay put, fingers massaging his temples, until he heard a suitcase being opened. He sprung up and went straight to the doorway, standing in it as Levi furiously packed his clothes away on the bed, facing away from him. Erwin began imploring him to stay.

“Levi, I apologize.”

“No, I’m the fool,” he realized as he folded the shirt he arrived in last night. “I created a fantasy of us in my mind and I should have recognized it as such.”

Erwin left the doorway to step further into the bedroom. “You’re not leaving.”

“It would appear as though I am.”

“You don’t think you’re being a little unreasonable?”

Levi slammed the suitcase shut and spun on his heel to meet Erwin directly in all of his fury, in all of his truth, now with unencumbered clarity. Erwin Smith would consider himself an unsullied saint no longer. “Why should I stay?” Levi challenged. “So you can dump your cum in me like a waste bin and then go back to your wife, your _precious_ world of pretend and money, and act like I don’t exist?”

A potent silence came from Erwin, his expression sharpening.

Levi carried on regardless, ushering forth everything he’d ever harbored since the day Erwin first came to the Jaeger residence months ago with Petra for her fertility treatments and their dubious affair commenced. Every instance where they fucked in the dark and in cramped quarters there was no space for honesty. Now, Levi had all the space, time, and liberty in the world.

“You were certainly willing to bring that bellboy here without a second thought.”

Erwin rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “Again with the bellboy-”

“How many others are there?” Levi snapped and the lack of response that followed gave him all the answer he needed. In the wake of rage, disappointment, and sadness that overcame him, all Levi could do was laugh incredulously. “You’re no different than the rest of them. Perched up on your fragile thrones, thinking people like me are expendable tools for your own content, while we work from dawn until dusk, making you money and wiping your ass, only to stand in line for scraps. For parents to be so exhausted that they kill their own children while they sleep.”

Mina and her dead baby appeared in Levi’s mind and he unleashed on Erwin as if he were the cause of it all, and while the responsibility may not solely rest on him, he contributed to a society that killed Thomas and destroyed Mina’s life in an instant.

“You couldn’t even begin to imagine,” Levi said, voice cracking as the emotion heightened inside of him. “You’re too busy running a company that was handed to you by your father while you try desperately to hide the fact that you’re a molly-”

Erwin raised his hand and smacked Levi across the face. Hard. The smaller man stumbled backwards, eyes wide, and touched his fingers to his reddened cheek while tasting metal in his mouth.

“That’s quite enough,” Erwin declared with a deadly calm.

All of Levi’s life he had to fight. Fight for food, for money, for respect. So, it was a natural reaction when he balled up his fist and repaid the slap with a well-aimed punch to Erwin’s jaw. Erwin, however, was much more resilient than Levi gave him credit for and he recovered quickly enough to snatch Levi around the back of the neck, securing him steady, as he slapped him again so forcibly that it made him delirious.

Because of this, when Levi made a move to hit him again, Erwin caught his fist in one hand and delivered a punch to his stomach with another. Levi doubled over, wheezing. He weakly looked up at Erwin and there was a poison in his eyes: disturbed and possessed.

The screaming that Levi had been trying to avoid reached him then.

_**Run.** _

Before Levi had the chance to escape, Erwin shoved him back on the bed and was on top of him the next second, pinning his arms down with his knees, and started berating him with open-handed blows to the face until blood cascaded from his nose, drenching his lips, cheeks, and chin.

“You think you know everything,” Erwin bellowed from above.

Another smack was received.

“Levi, the housemaid, so wise and noble in his poverty.”

Another.

“You have no right to pass judgement on me.”

And another.

“If your life is so deplorable, you only have yourself to blame.”

And another.

Erwin eased up on him then, freeing his arms. Levi coughed up the blood in his mouth and it splattered on the bedcovers. The room was spiraling and in his incoherence, he perched himself up on trembling elbows and attempted to crawl away.

His face was pressed into the mattress and Erwin’s hands toiled with Levi’s waistband and successfully pulled down his pants to expose his lower half. Stone cold apprehension hit him and a panic unlike anything he’d ever known rose in his throat.

“Stop,” he begged.

It was the only time he had begged for anything in his life and it fell on deaf ears. He gasped in pain when Erwin entered him sharply and thrusted into him while keeping his head down in the bedcovers, dirtying them with blood. Erwin’s weight bearing down on him was too much and eventually Levi stopped resisting. Somehow his mind had shut off but his body remained functioning. He was ashamed to confess that it betrayed him and permitted him an orgasm, but he did not reward Erwin with a speck of verbal satisfaction.

Afterwards, Levi stayed unmoving, staring at the walls and hoping he’d wake up soon. Of course, this could not be reality. In what world would he allow himself to be brutalized in this fashion?

Meanwhile, Erwin sat not two feet from him on the other side of the bed, head in his hands, having the nerve to feel sorry for himself.

-

Fear and uncertainty kept Levi chained to that bedroom until morning. Trauma fatigued his mind to such an extent that he slept regardless. In his slumber, he dreamt himself a twelve-year-old boy on the day when Kenny had first taken him to a boxing ring where he would train him to fight with bare fists, every day, well into manhood. The first time, Kenny had struck him square in the cheekbone and Levi collapsed on his hands and knees, panting as the sweat dripped off his brow.

“Get up,” Kenny ordered, circling around the ring. “Get up!” he shouted again when Levi didn’t move fast enough for his liking.

With a slow, determined breath, Levi rose to his feet and readied his fists again.

“Why do we rise?”

“Because I am an Ackerman, sir.”

Kenny halted, hands behind his back. “I said, _why do we rise_?”

The repeated question beseeched Levi to stand straighter and harden his voice.

“Because I am an Ackerman, sir!”

The scene dwindled from Levi’s vision and was replaced with his own reflection as he stood inside the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror coldly. How he had gotten there and when he had woken up, he wasn’t sure. How long he had been there he couldn’t say either, but after some time he got the willpower to wash the dried, caked blood from his face and watched as it stained the sink bowl pink.

When he reappeared in the bedroom to gather his belongings, already packed away, Erwin wasn’t there, but the mess on the comforter was and Levi pictured himself being raped in that spot clear as day. He turned away from it and grabbed his suitcase. Once it was in his grasp, he left the bedroom, frustrated with himself at how his hands quivered knowing Erwin was out there, like a beast on the prowl and he was the prey. It made him fucking nauseous.

Immediately, Levi saw him at the dining table looking detached from the present. As soon as Erwin caught sight of him, he didn’t get up right away, but he did dare to open his mouth and speak his name.

“Levi.”

Astoundingly to Erwin, Levi approached him and his glare bore down on him like hellfire.

“Our paths will undoubtedly cross again so I leave you this.” Levi bent down so that he was near Erwin’s face, venom spewing from his tongue. “If you ever so much as look at me again, I will expose you for everything that you are.” He spat saliva just under his eye. “Boy fucker.”

Erwin wiped away the spit and said nothing and if he had meant to say something, Levi didn’t stay a moment longer to hear his reply. He was out the door and pressing the button for the elevator rapidly. Thankfully, it parted open before desperation sank in and Erwin tried to follow him.

Levi rode the elevator down to the lobby, descending from this nightmare, and walked straight to the entrance, to the world he had been temporarily shut away from, craving some ounce of normalcy lest he completely breakdown then and there.

Ironically, he had passed Floch on the way out and, upon seeing the damage on Levi’s features, regarded him with a knowing pity.

_How many others are there_ , he had asked. _Too many_ , was the conclusion.

-

Levi traveled to the Jaeger household on foot, not sure where else to go, and bowing his head low so that people on the street wouldn’t see the harm done to him. Home wasn’t an option. Laying in his room alone, trapped with his thoughts, was the last thing he desired. What he needed was to work, to throw himself into something, to forget.

And when he entered through the back door of the kitchen to see Nanaba, to see the other kitchen maids and footmen, he wondered if maybe that all he wanted was for someone to witness Erwin Smith’s sins and to find comfort in someone.

Being met with the sight of Levi’s split and swollen lips, bruised cheeks, and inflated left eye, caused Nanaba to cry out in shock, hands covering her mouth and dropping the basket of apples she was about to peel for that evening’s pie. They scattered and rolled about on the floor. She shooed everyone out, forcing them to find something to do, and when it was only the two of them, Nanaba proceeded towards Levi with caution. One look at his eyes and she knew. She was a woman after all and had seen it in other kitchen maids before when they were being abused by their employers.

Tears swelled as she touched his cheek. “ _Mon dieu_ , what did he do to you?” she whispered sorrowfully.

Observing her reaction, the rape being reflected in her expression so plainly, overwhelmed Levi to a degree he didn’t anticipate. The barrier melted away. His shoulders and brows slackened, his fingers tremored, and his breath hitched, fighting to inhale like the air was being taken straight from his lungs, and for the first time since he was a child, he crumbled into someone else’s arms and wept openly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Note: For those curious, the drug in this chapter is nitrous oxide, a popular party drug in the 1800s and early 1900s. 
> 
> I have never been more apprehensive about putting out a chapter because I know sexual abuse is such a tender subject and I don’t want to mishandle it. And because this is such a sensitive subject, I feel the need to breakdown the events leading up to this inevitable violence from Erwin’s character in this series. 
> 
> First off, I love Erwin and this violence does not reflect how I feel about his actual character. 
> 
> Now, I’ve tried to subtly write Erwin has someone who has a problem with the word “no”. From the first dinner at the Jaeger house, Erwin has a way of manipulating people to his will. Petra wants to leave, he tells her to stay. Erwin’s always the one leaving Levi, not the other way around. The one instance where he tried the night of the World Series, Erwin snatched him up and forced him to stay. And then in this chapter, you see that the “freedom” of being open causes Levi to gradually see, and understandably ignore, Erwin being prone to violence (choking him, influencing him into sexual play while on drugs, and then ultimately taking advantage of him when the cards were down.) Basically, Erwin was born and bred into a world where being rich, being white, and being a man allows him to do whatever he wants. There is no way that Erwin, in all his greed, was only fucking Levi and that his perversions didn’t extend beyond screwing in a servants shack. 
> 
> But he’s also never met someone as headstrong as Levi and realizing he was losing control of the situation, became violent by nature. 
> 
> At first I didn’t want Levi to cry but I think his entire life he’s being able to fight physically and defend himself. This was the first time someone ever got the upper-hand on him and, as a result, violated him in the most vile way a person can be violated, and by a man he had thought cared about him no less. I think that would wreck anyone's shit. Also, the fact that Nanaba just KNEW from looking at him. The way she asked "what did HE do to you?" instead of "what HAPPENED to you?" Lowkey, I teared up writing that. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys were engrossed in the chapter (enjoyed seems like an ill-fitted word) and the next chapter I hope to have out soon! Now that Erwin is moving out of the picture, Levi and Eren are one step closer to being connected.


	8. Der Rosenkavalier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of child molestation. Tags and warnings updated.

Carla Jaeger stood in front of her bathroom mirror as she skillfully applied a plum lipstick that would compliment her evening dress; black, long, decorated with rhinestones, and cinched at the waist with a high chiffon neckline. She rubbed her lips together to coat them completely with the dark color and pursed them at her reflection, tilting her head at various angles to examine her makeup until satisfied. Pleased with her efforts, she popped the cap back onto the tube and left the master bathroom. Her heels clacked mutely on the carpeted floor and she stole a glance at the clock which read a quarter past six o’clock and the opera started at eight. She suspected that the traffic would be horrible.

“Grisha!” she yelled as she rushed into the closet to find her mink coat. “Are you ready?” When he didn’t respond right away, she called for him louder, more insistently, until she heard his footsteps coming from down the hallway and halting just before the bedroom. Throwing on her coat, Carla appeared out of the closet to meet him and saw, much to her relief, that he was already fully dressed in his black tailcoat, pants, and freshly waxed shoes.

“I’ve been ready, dear,” Grisha said as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the dust from his glasses, eyeing her knowingly. “Perhaps you should ask yourself the same question.”

Carla suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and huff at him in annoyance. With one final look at herself in the full-length mirror by their dresser, she exited the room and passed Grisha entirely to go down the main corridor to Eren’s room where she entered without knocking. Eren was currently in the process of having one of the footmen adjust his own tailcoats and pin his cufflinks.

He was visibly irked by Carla’s intrusion. “Mother, please.”

“Oh, Eren,” she admired, ignoring his peevish tone. “You look dashing!”

Carla approached and inspected the details of the ensemble that was picked up from the tailors that morning. It fit Eren’s shoulders and chest span exquisitely and Carla was more than happy with the money spent to have it made hastily. As she was surveying the handiwork, Eren gathered his hair into a bun. Carla reached out and tucked a loose strand behind his ear, smiling at her son who had become a man overnight.

“You know, I’m beginning not to utterly loathe this rustic hair-do of yours.”

With that, she turned on her heels and clapped her hands, raising her voice a few octaves. “Alright, chop, chop! I’m having Mike leave with the car in ten minutes!”

-

Meanwhile in North Shore, Historia was positioned in front of her own mirror, appreciating the lightweight and pale yellow gown she wore, embroidered with flower designs and accented with jewels, along with her hair which had been curled and pinned in an elegant updo by Ymir. A drooping pearl necklace hung from her neck and matching earrings dangled from her lobes. As a last touch, Historia went to her closet and dug out the forbidden shoebox, knowing tonight was the perfect occasion to wear the velvet turquoise shoes that Reiner had crafted for her.

Although the sight of them brought her sadness, the notion of being too frightened to ever wear them made her equally despondent. She thought what a waste it would be for Reiner to have spent hours creating something so beautiful only for them to rot away in a corner. So, Historia freed them from their cage, stuffing the box back into the closet, and carried the shoes as if she were presenting a priceless treasure and displayed them blatantly for Ymir’s consideration who sat casually on her bedcovers, a clear sign of their comfortability with one another.

“Aren’t they lovely?” Historia beamed.

As a nonverbal reply. Ymir motioned her to come sit next to her on the bed. When Historia obeyed, Ymir plucked the shoes from her grasp and grabbed her bare leg, elevating it so she could slip one of the shoes onto her foot. Ymir repeated the same with the other. Historia looked down at them in delight and circled her ankles around to view them at different angles. She was so entranced that she missed the heartache in Ymir’s expression.

“Did that boy make them for you?” she asked.

The abruptness of the query broke Historia’s concentration on her footwear. Her eyes widened and she put a finger to her lips, whispering fretfully, “You mustn’t speak so candidly about such matters.” She sprung from the bed and darted over to the door to shut it. Once secluded, her worry vanished and was replaced with a despicable smirk. “But since you inquired, yes, he did.”

“Are you still visiting him in the city?” Ymir pressed on as Historia returned to the mirror.

She sighed. “No and I must keep it that way.”

It had been weeks since she had last spoken to Reiner and while they had gone longer instances without laying eyes on each other, Historia wondered, as she had countless times before, why she wasn’t as dejected as she ought to have been. A pestering part of her brain argued that it was because she still had lingering reservations about not visiting him again. Something about the arrangement didn’t feel wholly permanent as if she wasn’t convinced in her own resolve even though her relationship with Eren was going well. So well that marriage seemed inevitable.

Why, then, did she not want that day to ever come?

As if reading her mind, Ymir posed the question, “Do you love him?”

“Which one?” she retorted.

“Listen to you,” Ymir scoffed comically. “The doctor’s son.”

“We’ve certainly had a lot of fun together as of late-”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you love him?”

Already exasperated by her own introspection and the persistent nature of Ymir’s interrogation, Historia threw her hands out and at her sides. “Must everything be defined by love? Can I simply have a good time with a handsome boy?”

Her vexed reaction caused Ymir to say nothing more about the subject. However, sensing a decline in her mood, how her eyes became distant, Historia tried to brighten her spirits by being cheeky, recalling Eren’s most recent visit where their kissing session escalated further than usual and his hand disappeared under her dress and his fingers had slipped inside her underwear.

“Though, if you must know, I do love the skillfulness of his hands.”

“You’re a regular harlot, Lady Historia.”

Historia feigned an offended gasp and went over to the array of decorative pillows erected on her bed and hurled one at her. Ymir batted it away with ease but they both laughed nonetheless. After their merriment subsided, Ymir became aware of the time and rose to check that there weren’t any wrinkles on Historia’s dress and that her hair was placed just so, smoothing out any fly-away strands, painstakingly aware of how breathtaking she was. Even more so when she smiled at her and left the room, jewels swaying on her hips as she walked to the stairwell.

Historia gradually made her way down the stairs, holding onto the banister so not to trip on her heels. Once at the bottom, she veered off into the main sitting room where the sun was setting against the lake, transforming it into a glowing orange, and her mother was tucked into one of the french sofas reading a book. She always had her nose in one. Literary escapism was her favorite hobby.

Seeing her sitting there, alone, peaceful, and undisturbed, made her seem almost normal, but Historia knew better to mistake her as such and she approached her warily. Though it was plausible she could be in better sorts since Rod was away in Pennsylvania at the oil fields her family had owned since they had struck oil there in the early 1800s, amassing their already significant and generational thousands into millions.

“I’m going to the opera house gala with Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger and Eren,” she announced timidly. “I should be back later this evening.”

Alma peered over her book, scanning Historia up and down before honing in on her colorful shoes. “Where did you get those?” she implored, nodding towards them.

“A while ago when father took me to see his banker.”

Not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either.

Alma regarded her suspiciously and idling would only make it worse, so Historia promptly excused herself, thankfully without much protest, and went outside to the car that was already running in anticipation for her departure. The driver opened the door for her as she climbed inside, ready to flee this stuffy hell for a glamorous evening at the gala.

-

An hour later, the car pulled up to the curb of 39th and Broadway, stalled behind a procession of other vehicles as they scooted up the line to drop off opera-goers at the front entrance. Looking up at the sea of lights shimmering from signs and theater marquees that lit the avenue like Christmas Eve, Historia thought how Broadway wasn’t coined The Great White Way for nothing. She watched in uncontainable excitement as pedestrians ambled about in glorious gowns and spiffy dinner coats, hair curled or slicked back underneath hats. She couldn’t keep herself away from it and not wanting to wait a second longer to join in on the wondrous maelstrom, she opened the back door. Before the driver could object, it had been slammed shut and Historia was nearly skipping up the sidewalk to the opera house where a swarm of brilliantly-dressed people were gathered as they proceeded through the front doors. Historia stood on her tip-toes, hoping to spot a familiar face.

Suddenly, she felt a hand at her waist. The sensation put her on alert and she whirled towards the offender, prepared to swing her coin purse, but then saw it was only Eren looking very handsome in his black coattails.

“A beautiful woman going to the opera all by her lonesome?” he inquired playfully and made a tsk-ing sound with his tongue. “This will not do at all.”

“Be my date for this evening, then, sir?”

“If you insist,” he replied and graciously offered her his elbow which she accepted by wrapping her arm around it. At that moment, Carla walked up to the couple and greeted Historia animatedly with a peck on each cheek then took a step back to adore them.

“What a pair the two of you make,” she gushed.

A blush washed over Eren’s cheeks at his mother’s continued intrusiveness. “Mother,” he grinded out through his teeth.

She brushed away his discontent once again by speaking directly to Historia. “We’ve been missing your parents as of late. I do hope we didn’t scare them off at last month’s soiree?”

“Not at all, ma’am,” she said politely, knowing Carla didn’t mean the sentiment. “My father is away in Pennsylvania and mother isn’t a fan of the opera.” She felt a bit of deja vu from the World Series party and thought herself a broken record.

“Yes, well, it’s certainly not for everyone.”

At that, Carla beckoned Grisha over petulantly and they all situated themselves in line to enter the opera house. While they were in the queue, Carla caught sight of someone she recognized out of the corner of her eye and saw that it was Petra making her way through the crowd, unaccompanied by her husband.

“Petra, dear,” she called out to her and touched her arm gently, causing her to stop. “How good to see you!”

Petra appeared apathetic as always but received Carla’s cheek kisses amiably. Eren noted inwardly how she was absolutely stunning with her bob styled into perfectly laid finger curls and her navy blue dress on her pale, boyish figure. It made him wonder why Erwin felt the need to fuck the family’s sous chef instead of her even if she had the emotional capacity of a wet rag. Images came forth then of what Eren had witnessed and dreamed of in the servant’s quarters and he grew anxious in her presence knowing what he did.

“Where is Erwin, if you don’t mind my prodding?” his mother asked with impeccable timing.

Petra was unbothered and answered boredly, her accent sounding thicker than usual. “He say he is unwell. A cold.” She scoffed lightly. “They don’t make men here like they make in _Rossiya_.”

“Well, we’ll wish for a speedy recovery,” Carla responded, unsure of what else to say, but she was an expert at conversation and was good at landing on her feet. “Where are you seated?”

“In the boxes.”

“Oh,” she gasped. “How wonderful.”

“I get you seat,” Petra stated abruptly and eyeballed Grisha, Historia, and Eren. “Your family, too.” Without waiting for a reply, she waved them along, an instruction to follow her through the line.

Carla, stunned at the suddenness of her kind gesture, hesitated. “But how-”

“I know producer. Oluo and I were lovers when I danced the ballet and before I marry Erwin Smith.”

The cavalier manner in which she said it left Carla speechless. Petra Smith was truly the only person who could throw Carla Jaeger for a loop, but she recovered regardless and looked over her shoulder at Grisha with a shrug and prompted her family to tail behind Petra, Historia and Eren bringing up the rear.

“What a woman,” Historia mumbled to him in amazement. He tended to agree.

They pushed themselves up to the entrance. As Petra approached the turnstiles, she was recognized on the spot and was let through before everyone else and, as her honored guests, Grisha, Carla, Eren, and Historia received the same treatment. Inside, the main lobby was equally as packed. The carpet was an ornate red and the handrails going up the staircase to the amphitheater were a shiny gold. Sculptures of Roman gods were stationed in the alcoves of the marble walls and the oval ceiling was painted with heavenly mosaics. As Petra continued to lead them, Eren and Historia found Armin and Jean in the horde and it appeared that they had been inside waiting for a while.

“Eren,” Armin bellowed and waved his arm to get his attention, but his face fell in confusion when he saw that Eren kept walking in the opposite direction. “Where are you going?”

Eren pointed at Petra and then pointed upwards.

Jean fanned himself with a brochure, burning up as the temperature in the lobby skyrocketed with the mounting number of clustered bodies. “To hell with him, then.”

When they had all ascended the staircase, scaling two flights, Petra escorted them to one of the boxes and drew back the curtain, revealing an ideal panoramic view of the theater. Not too low to the stage but not too high either where everything felt a mile away. Carla was beside herself, ogling around in giddy astonishment as she sat down in one of the seats. Grisha took her left and Historia her right, then Eren next to her, and Petra at the end. They made small shallow conversation amongst each other to pass the time until the overhead lights were dimmed until utter darkness, causing the humming of chatter to die instantly, and the golden curtain rose to show a woman lying in a bed fit for a king while only in her nightgown. Violins and cellos began to play a weighty melody and a man tenderly approached the woman from off-stage, awaking her from her slumber, and joined her in bed where he earnestly sang to her. About what, Eren wasn’t sure. He didn’t speak German, contrary to his last name.

The man serenaded his lover while caressing her face and she grabbed one of his hands in her own and sang to him as well, their voices mingling together in harmony until passion overcame them both and their mouths crushed together. Shortly after, the man began ravishing her exposed chest.

Eren shifted uncomfortably in his seat knowing his parents were watching the same scene he was.

Before the man could kiss any lower, he unexpectedly became affronted by an open window and his singing rose to an even higher emotion and he leapt from the bed to close it. Although it was meant to be a serious moment, laughter was teeming in Eren’s throat and he tried to shake it off by rubbing his mouth, but the dramatic nature of the singing was too ridiculous for him to cope.

Historia heard the strangled laughter and she looked at Eren amusedly. “Are you going to make it?” she whispered.

“No,” he said quickly, scared that the laughter would overtake him if he opened his mouth any further. Another outrageously high note was hit by the soprano and a chuckle managed to elude him and his mother reached over the back of the seats to smack him on the shoulder.

“Honestly!” Carla chastised hotly.

-

Levi was outside smoking a cigarette alone and bored since there wasn’t much work to be done while the family was out at the opera. It had been several days since The Roosevelt and, as expected, Levi’s face congealed and had gotten significantly more ugly to look at. The bruises had darkened and were accented by a disgusting yellow hue around the edges. Fortunately, the swelling in his eye had receded. It was a small improvement, but compared to everything else, it was barely discernible.

Also, for some unknown reason he had not returned home. All he knew was that he had no desire to be there at present. However, he did feel lousy for not sending word yet to Sasha or Eld who were probably concerned that he was dead and for that, he considered making a trip back tomorrow, but definitely not tonight.

Naturally, Carla had asked in distress what had happened to him and he lied saying he had gotten into a street fight. Simple and straightforward. He left it at that. He wasn’t even certain if she knew he was sleeping there at night. As for the other servants, they were also fed the same story as Carla and as to why he wasn’t going home at night, he added that the men who had jumped him were circling his apartment after hours.

Levi often laid awake in one of the spare beds in the servant’s quarters until absolute exhaustion forced him to sleep. When he finally fell into unconsciousness, he dreamed vividly. Sometimes he relieved the events that transpired in that penthouse suite. Sometimes he would dream of home, of the wildflower fields. Sometimes he would dream about his miserable childhood in New York, but one memory that he had repressed for over a decade ate through its chains and ushered forth dreams of when Mikasa had come to live with him and Kenny.

When Levi was thirteen, Kenny brought in an orphaned girl to their already small and cramped home. What the intent was, Levi still couldn’t say. He surmised it was because Kenny thought it would do his nephew some good to have a sibling or perhaps it was because she had trudged through a mountain of shit like the two of them or maybe it was simply because he wanted to. Kenny was strange in his ways.

Mikasa was born in New York. Her mother had come from Hiroshima, landed in San Francisco, and fell in love with an American who had been a soldier in The Great War. They moved across the country to New York because his cousin owned a paint-making business and offered him steady work. Unfortunately, her father suffered from terrible shell shock. The migration failed to heal his mind and he ended his life with a muzzleloader when Mikasa was five. Her mother followed him into the Earth not long after from unforeseen causes that the doctors vaguely diagnosed as cardiac arrest. It could also be translated as dying from a broken heart. Mikasa lived on the streets of the Tenement District for a year before Kenny found her and took pity on her. When he brought her home like some stray animal, she was practically a mute.

It made her ill-fitted for the kind of life Kenny led and, as an adult, he should have known better. Levi often questioned if she would have been better off at some filthy orphanage.

Kenny was always mixed up in shady dealings and there were strangers constantly coming in and out of the apartment. He was incapable of holding an actual job; got some sort of thrill out of the danger of it. He claimed when they had left France that he wasn’t going to partake in the criminal lifestyle anymore since he had worked the Parisian black market in his youth and hardly ever visited his sister in Riquewihr, but he sent money: dirty but good.

Kenny also claimed that he had won the tickets to America in a lucky poker game, but Levi always assumed he had killed someone for them and that’s why he was so adamant and selfish about reserving the tickets for himself and Levi instead of gifting them to his sister, the mother of the child, and sail to America on a later date.

Nevertheless, New York was a lot faster than Paris with even bigger rewards and he got sucked into the game all the same.

One day, Kenny was in the kitchen talking to one of those strangers, loaded guns placed on the table where the three of them all sat and ate dinner regularly, discussing a topic Levi couldn’t recall but it must have been important for he was shooed away to the bedroom that he shared with his uncle. On the way there, he heard a muffled ruckus in Mikasa’s bedroom that she occupied by herself since she was a girl. He peeked inside and saw one of those men with his hands underneath her shirt.

She was seven at the time.

Levi couldn’t explain the feeling accurately. All he remembered was that everything went black while his eyes were wide open. Not just his sight but every one of his senses. When he came to, the man who was touching her was underneath him, a bloody mess, barely recognizable but breathing shallowly, and Levi’s knuckles were stained red. His hands shook fiercely and he turned to Mikasa, scared, who was on the bed hugging her knees, staring at him with no particular emotion. Funny how he was more terrified than she was. Kenny and the other men appeared in the doorway after hearing the sound of Levi beating the poor bastard under him senseless. Considering the scene before them, they deduced the situation immediately.

“He,” Levi breathed weakly, his eyes fixated on hers as he swallowed the wad in his throat. “He won’t hurt you again, you understand?”

She nodded. Unafraid of him.

The dream would typically end there and Levi would wake up gasping and sweating in the cold realization that, yes, he had known Erwin’s violence before. It had been all around him his whole life, but now he was on the receiving side of it and Levi wished now that he could go back in time, back to that moment of Mikasa curled on the bed, and offer her something other than more violence.

Presently, Levi’s cigarette was a sweltering nub burning at his fingertips and he dropped it in the grass and scraped it out with the heel of his shoe before reentering the kitchen which was empty and quiet since there was no dinner to be served. Nanaba was out in the dining room polishing silverware in monotony. In the same regard, Levi went to the pantry and selected ingredients of spaghetti, garlic, olive oil, parsley, and parmigiano-reggiano to make him and Nanaba a light pasta dinner of aligo e olio.

While he was in the pantry, he heard a door creek open and shut. Assuming it was Nanaba, he began speaking to her in French.

“ _Tu as faim?_ ”

There was a silence that passed and he knew had asked the question loud enough for her to hear it. Then like a delayed train leaving the station, it registered that the sound of the door came from the back, not from the dining room. He paused and turned to face the threshold of the pantry to see Erwin Smith standing in the doorway.

Levi thought he was dreaming again.

Yet there he was, physical and real, and that familiar panic arose against his own will.

“What are you doing here?” Levi demanded and his foot instinctively stepped back when Erwin took a step closer. An action that went against his battle intuition. Levi was only succeeding in trapping himself. “Get out.”

Erwin’s expression was one of profound mortification having to bear witness to the disfigurement he had caused to Levi’s person. To see with his own eyes what he had done to him and he dared to reach out to touch the bruises, but his hand was harshly slapped away.

“Did you think my threat wasn’t a serious one?” Levi shook off his nerves and stood his ground. “Get out!”

Erwin must have skipped the gala knowing that the Jaegers would be absent for most of the evening. It was the only reason he’d come here. Regardless, it was very foolish and uncharacteristic of him to risk this much exposure. He was desperate, Levi concluded. He was feeling rotten, sinful, searching for forgiveness-

“I love you.”

Levi was convinced that the world itself ceased to spin on its axis in that moment. Everything was still. When was the last time he had heard those words from anyone? He certainly never heard them from Kenny or any short-lived partner. No, the last person to say that to him was his mother. They sounded foreign, a language long-forgotten, but hearing them come from a man who had violated him so brutally made Levi’s stomach churn in disgust and confusion.

“You asked how many others there were and it’s true that you were not the first to be in that hotel room,” Erwin went on. “But I swear to you that there is no one else.”

This was wrong.

“When we’re apart, you are all that consumes me.”

All wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“I want you. Forever.”

“Is this how you treat the things that you love?” Levi snapped. “By beating them and raping them?” He made sure to say the words fully by their real names and Erwin recoiled at them in the slightest of ways. Hardly perceivable.

“My actions towards you were deplorable and I will never forgive myself for hurting you so badly.”

“Well, you’re not where the forgiveness needs to come from.”

Erwin bravely took another step forward. The mist in his eyes was pleading, anguished, and Levi, oddly enough, almost felt sorry for him. “All my life I’ve been a confused man,” he professed. “Living a lie, feeling trapped. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ll leave Petra. Tonight, if I must. I have the money for us to go wherever you want.” His desperation transformed into a hopeful genuineness. “I’ll take you home. To France, if you desire it.”

For a split second, Levi considered it. Sailing the Atlantic. Going home to Riquewihr. Finding his mother. But he quickly recovered. He wouldn’t be a victim to another double-dealing fantasy. “I will not return home on your dollar.”

“Levi, please-”

“Stop begging. It’s pathetic of you.”

Levi made a move to leave but Erwin cornered him against one of the pantry racks and, in his despair, kissed Levi’s swollen and cut lips. Levi winced and his heart pounded in his ears as he re-experienced the bodily sensations of The Roosevelt. He put an elbow to Erwin’s chest and shoved him away.

“Get off of me,” he warned.

“I love you,” Erwin proclaimed for the second time but it didn’t carry the same weight as the first.

“I said get the fuck off of me!”

“Hard of hearing, monsieur?” Nanaba’s voice rang from behind Erwin. Both he and Levi froze and Erwin slowly glanced over his shoulder and was met with a kitchen knife to his neck. Perceiving the sharpen steel, Erwin raised his hands in surrender and backed away from Levi who was absorbed by Nanaba’s formidable glare and wondered if that’s the look that swallowed him whole when he had beat that child molester within an inch of his life. It was something not of this world. It was colder than any winter, than the deepest ice.

“Leave at once,” Nanaba commanded with lethal evenness.

Erwin’s eyes locked on Levi as if searching for help.

“I said leave you disgusting swine,” she repeated, adding a heaviness to her tone as she gripped the knife tighter. “You’re lucky I don’t slice your cock and balls off for the things you’ve done.”

It was then that Erwin understood that not only did Nanaba clearly know about him and Levi’s relationship through what she was seeing currently, but that Levi had disclosed to her the happenings at The Roosevelt as well and a wave of terror coursed through him.

It must have reflected in his features for Nanaba said, “Smart man,” before nodding her head towards the door. “Now go.”

Finally, the gravity of the message was received and Erwin exited the pantry without a parting look to Levi and left out the back door, returning from whence he came. Whether he had taken a driver there or walked, Levi couldn’t say. Not that it mattered. He was more concerned with why, in that moment, a mixture of guilt, sadness, and sympathy engulfed him. Why did he yearn to comfort Erwin in his loneliness? Why did his heart ache knowing they had reached their end? Why did he feel he should be grateful, of all things, that Erwin took such a massive risk to explain himself? Why did Levi still hope for good?

The mind was a queer thing.

However, watching Nanaba lower her weapon that she had fully intended to harm Erwin with centered him back into reality and Levi became embarrassed and ashamed that he had been made a spectacle of once again.

“Are you alright?”

Levi hurriedly wiped away the wetness forming in his eyes, annoyed and frustrated, hoping Nanaba didn’t notice. “Fuck, why do I keep…” he exhaled a deep breath to level himself. “I let him do it to me again, Nanaba. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you.”

“I said if he ever looked at me again, if he ever _touched_ me again-”

“Our words don’t always reflect reality. You are human, Levi. Remember that.” Nanaba turned towards the doorway then, her hand extended out to him as a warm gesture. “Now let me make you some tea.”

-

After the performance, an exclusive event hosted by the board of directors was held in the upstairs ballroom where champagne was served openly and a band played upbeat swing music. Petra continued her self-awarded role of chaperone and pulled Carla and Grisha away to be introduced to the producer while Eren and Historia, who had located Jean and Armin after the show, secured an available table and were given a round of fizzing champagne. Jean and Eren, on cue, lit their own cigarettes. Armin didn’t participate in the act of smoking and neither did Historia, but she was in grand sorts that evening and she leaned over to Eren.

“Could a lady have a smoke?”

Eren raised an eyebrow but offered her one anyways. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Historia picked the cigarette out of Eren’s fingers and halted Jean with her other hand as he attempted to reach over and light it for her. Instead, she stole away his packet of matches that laid on the table and struck one herself and puffed the tobacco until the cherry ignited. “Only when the mood strikes me,” she replied with her lips tucked around the filter. She shook out the match and exhaled.

Eren, as did Armin and Jean from their captivated expressions, never found a woman more awe-inspiring.

They sat at the table and drank and pulled on their cigarettes for a better part of an hour until the atmosphere of the ballroom began to unwind considerably as everyone polished off their first glasses of champagne and were starting their second, possibly third. The band’s tempo increased in enthusiasm and the trumpets, trombones, clarinet, and drums all blended together in a fast-paced harmony. Though most didn’t know it, Historia actually loved to dance. She yanked Eren up from his seat by the arm, imploring him to the dance floor with such eagerness that he had to snuff out his half-finished cigarette in the ashtray and down the rest of his champagne before following her.

Eren wasn’t half-bad of a dancer himself. Once they had joined the throng of other swaying and twirling guests, he took Historia’s hand in his own and snaked an arm around her waist and proceeded to lead them in an excited rhythm. The footwork had them gliding across the floor, moving their shoulders and twisted their upper bodies in tune with the music. Eren, feeling confident, spun Historia out, keeping a strong grasp on her hand, and she laughed as she spun back into his hold.

They danced in this fashion for a good while, consumed in the energy. They only took breaks to drink more, laugh with other party-goers, and to stand out on the balcony to smoke because Historia enlivened seeing all the lights and the cars passing by. It made her feel like a movie star.

By the time the familiar number of the Charleston started to play, they were all rightfully drunk. Armin included.

“Oh,” Historia gasped, setting her drink aside. “I absolutely love this dance!”

“I, unfortunately, do not know the Charleston,” Eren slurred and then urged Armin forward on unsteady feet. “He does, though.”

Historia regarded Armin with pressing eyes. “Armin, would you escort me to the dance floor, please?” She held out her elbow comedically like a gentleman and Armin couldn’t refuse. He accepted her arm and guided her back out onto the dance floor where Eren gladly observed from a distance as they held out their arms, palms up and out, as they picked up their legs and stomped them in front and behind them on beat with the trumpet, and then spun around, touching their heels to their hands.

Having ingested a grievous amount of champagne, Eren needed to go to the bathroom to piss which he uncouthly announced to Jean who concurred he needed to do the same. They haphazardly made their way to the bathroom through the buzzing crowd, finding it in a hallway next to the bar where they stumbled through the door and they both crashed open their respective stalls with an urgent force to relieve themselves, hands pressed against the wall to support their unstable bodies.

Jean had finished first and Eren heard him at the sink washing his hands. When he finished up himself, he adjusted his pants and managed to tuck back in his dress shirt before exiting the stall. In his drunken stupor, Eren lost his footing and fell onto the floor just before the sink and him and Jean laughed uncontrollably. In their hysterics, Jean bestowed a hand to Eren and he clasped it before being hauled to his feet. The sudden movement had them both teetering and Jean tripped into Eren and the weight of the other man colliding with his chest had Eren’s back against the stall. Their lips were merely inches apart.

The laughter waned and memories of Princeton flooded both of their minds, drowning them, and their mouths came together in a violent tempest of tongues and teeth. Eren, already not in a proper state, was overwhelmed by it. For months he had longed for this. Not Jean specifically, but for a masculine embrace. Invigorated, his hand traveled down between them and grazed Jean’s budding erection through his trousers.

The touch must have shocked Jean momentarily sober because he shoved him away, disconnecting them. They both stood there, drunk, panting, and considering each other gravely.

“We said this would not follow us back.”

That was all Eren remembered Jean saying before he left the bathroom and slammed the door shut, leaving him alone with only his disheveled reflection in the mirror.

-

Historia noted a change in Eren’s mood throughout the rest of the night, how he went from being one of the most charismatic young men in the room to being utterly melancholy and lost in thought. She also noted how Jean was baselessly avoiding their company.

“Did you and Jean have a disagreement?” she inquired when they were alone at a table together.

“You could say so.”

“Well, if it’s any con- consul-”

Historia wasn’t the only one drunker than anticipated and Eren allowed himself a smile as she fumbled through her sentence.

“- _consolation_ ,” she finally grounded out, “then you should know…” she trailed off again and giggled after a pause. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

“I would have forgotten it the moment you said it anyways.”

Historia gazed at Eren intimately, admiring how his hair fell in tendrils around his cheeks and jawline as it progressively loosened from its tie, and how he had unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt in heat. His inebriated smile. His tan skin and green eyes. She didn’t know if she loved him, but she knew for certain that she wanted him and she captured his lips in her own.

Oddly, he did not reciprocate her affections as he normally did. It was lackluster and left her feeling bewildered when she parted from him and she pretended as if she didn’t sense him flinching away. Nevertheless, they tried to carry on festively with the remainder of the time they had together until Grisha approached the two of them and declared, rather disgruntled, that they were leaving. A single look at Carla sitting off in one of the corner tables, laughing boisterously with others and spilling her drink, told Eren and Historia that she was more intoxicated than the both of them combined and getting her to the car took some forcible coaxing.

Grisha propped Carla up against him to prevent her from collapsing and even then her full and unbalanced upright weight was too much for him to handle alone and Eren, still appreciably drunk, secured the other side of her in order to assist her down the stairs with Historia trailing behind. They eventually were welcomed by the crisp early autumn air and Grisha assumed the sole responsibility of dragging Carla to the car while Eren walked Historia to her own, which was parked only a few vehicles away. He opened the door himself and kissed her hand goodbye as she stepped into the backseat.

He closed the door and smacked his hands on the passenger side window to alert the driver that she was fit for departure before stumbling back to his own car. On the way, he tried to digest the events of the evening but was too far gone to do so. Instead, he climbed into the backseat, mumbling a thank you to Mike who held the door open and who had been holding it open since Grisha wrestled Carla inside. Eren struggled a bit himself but managed to crawl onto the interior and lay there on his stomach.

Grisha looked at his family in disappointment and muttered heatedly, “Must you two always get so roaringly shit-faced?”

-

Historia arrived home at North Shore at nearly two in the morning completely exhausted. She was let into the estate by a tired servant who appeared to have been sleeping only seconds before. Historia encouraged her to return to bed and that she could make it to her bedroom alone. All she wished for was some much needed sleep herself and she lumbered up the staircase sluggishly, her turquoise shoes dangling from her hooked fingers as she went barefoot.

After some time, she found herself in the doorway of her bedroom and leaned against the frame for support. When she looked ahead, she saw that the french doors to her terrace were opened and a strong draft was barreling in. Seated outside on one of her wicker chairs in a robe and slippers was Alma.

Historia instantly became sober.

“Mother?” she said unsurely and stepped closer to confirm she wasn’t hallucinating.

When she was issued a response, she knew that she was real.

“How was the opera?” Alma asked callously. “I can smell you from here.”

Historia, unresolved on what to say next, decided it best to say nothing at all, but the undertone and unusual nature of the setting created an unease.

“Well,” Alma continued without a proper answer from her daughter, “I hope you enjoyed it because it’ll be your last.”

“Pardon?”

Alma, facing the darkened lake, flashed a note before Historia and proceeded to read it aloud. “If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever.”

At hearing those words, Historia’s blood ran cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE NOTE HAS BEEN FOUND! 
> 
> Also, I've said this before but I'll say it again I REALLY vibe with Historia in this story. She's so much fun to write.


	9. Purple Mountain Majesties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a minute to get perfect. There’s a lot of different perspectives coming together. A lot of sensitive topics. Lots of emotions. It’s hard to get it JUST right, but I think I’m finally happy with it. So, here it is guys. The LAST chapter before we get to explore Levi and Eren’s relationship. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Domestic abuse & attempted suicide.

-

Northwestern Pennsylvania

1905

-

Before Alma was a Reiss, she was a Sheffield, born and raised in the middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania, where her entire world began and ended on her family’s farm. She would often spend her days cozied up against the white oak tree that stood imposingly before their front porch, leaves fluttering in the wind just overtop of the roof, and would read book after book while appreciating the rolling hills that spread out before her like a wavy ocean of green. Alma was a quiet girl. The oldest of five sisters, much to her father’s dismay, and her interest in literature had marked her as an outsider in a blue-collar kingdom. “There’s Alma with her damn head in the clouds,” her family would sneer. “Ain’t concerned with doin’ a lick of work around here.”

Her father owned a lumber business and earned good money. It was hard, laborious, and honest work. The Sheffields had so much land that they would house any workers they employed in a modest abode out by the barn. Meanwhile, the women would keep busy by washing clothes, mending tears, cooking dinner, and tending to animals.

One day while Alma was reading Tolstoy out by the oak tree, a worker came by with a towel wrapped around his hand.

“I don’t mean to trouble you, Miss Sheffield, but…”

Alma put her book down on her lap and saw the towel that he held was stained with blood. She shot up to her feet and urged the man inside where she ordered him to sit at the kitchen table while she rummaged through the medical supplies in the top cabinet. When she gathered everything that she needed, Alma pulled up a chair, took his hand, and carefully unwrapped the soiled fabric to reveal a deep gash in his palm, which he claimed to have gotten from misplacing it while sawing timber. Alma got to work suturing, but not before uncorking a bottle of whiskey and pouring it over the wound to purify it. The man cursed unapologetically.

She didn’t say much while sewing his flesh but the man was persistent in speaking to her.

“You know, I see you everyday by that tree, lost in your books, and I wonder what you must be thinking about.”

Alma kept on in her suturing.

“Not many women around here are able to read. They say readin’ is bad for women. That it fills their head with frivolous ideas, but you don’t seem that way to me. You seem real smart, Miss Sheffield. You’ll do amazing things one day. I’m sure of it.”

Alma paused in her undertaking and looked at him then, noticing rather suddenly how handsome he was with his dark hair and tanned skin, face and fingernails dirited from arduous work. Never had anyone, let alone a man, spoken to her in such a manner.

“What’s your name?”

“Elliot Clemens.”

After that day in the kitchen, Elliot would come find Alma by her tree or while she was caring for animals in the barn. He would inquire about her books and she would chatter away, more than she ever had, about the worlds she immersed herself in, and he would listen to every word like her voice was sweeter than fresh honeycombs. She fell in love before she could even think to catch herself.

During this time, Rod Reiss was paying visits to the farm with prospects of buying a portion of the Sheffield land to mine for more oil, prepared to offer the family a generous percentage for generations to come. Everyone in the area knew Rod for both his wealth and his lechery and in the countless meetings with Alma’s father to secure an amiable deal, Rod honed in on the oldest Sheffield daughter. He would try his advances but Alma would always swat them away. She, like everyone else, thought Rod to be a short and ugly man, and wanted to make it perfectly clear that he would never have her.

She was a naive child then and money talked louder than her dismissal.

Rod expressed interest in Alma to her father and he promised her hand in marriage in exchange for higher royalties without a second thought.

“It’s about time Alma made herself useful around here,” he had said to Rod as they shook hands, agreeing to fifty acres of land, three percent royalties, and his daughter’s virginity. Sold away like livestock.

Alma cried and begged for the deal to be reversed. When her father refused, she turned to her mother for support and received none. Instead she argued that Alma should be grateful. She was about to become a wealthy bride. Any girl would throw themselves into fire to be in her position.

That same day, Alma sought out Elliot in her hysteria and told him to meet her in the barn at midnight. After the sun had long been put to rest, she snuck out the front door of her home and joined him amongst the haystacks. She didn’t tell him about her betrothal to Rod Reiss, but instead shed off her bodice, exposing her breasts, and he took them in his mouth and they collapsed into the hay. He lifted up her nightgown and pushed himself between her legs. It burned and tears ran out of the corners of her eyes, but there was nothing she wanted more in that moment than that delicious pain.

As they rutted in the barn, moaning in the night, they were discovered by Alma’s father and one of her sisters who had spotted her leaving the house.

Elliot was terminated the following morning and was permanently banned from reentering the property. Alma was stripped bare outside and her mother beat her with a wooden spoon and sticks from the yard until she pissed herself from the agony.

Afterwards, the family made a pact to never disclose to Rod that Alma had ruined herself and she married him the next summer as planned.

Their wedding night was the first of many nightmares to come. The image of Rod, overweight, naked, and small-cocked, sweating and panting exhaustively as he fucked her like a dog was seared into her memory and scarred over. The next day, Alma was moved to Long Island to reside in his North Shore estate. No family, no friends, her husband never home. She quickly went stir crazy and grew resentful. Every time Rod decided to come home, Alma nagged and yelled at him incessantly until it became too much and he concluded the best way to deal with a haughty, disrespectful wife was to batter her into submission. Behind closed doors, in front of servants, it mattered not to him. Then she would be propped and powdered up like a lifeless doll to attend a party that same evening.

Rod slept with other women, too, during their tumultuous marriage. He reeked of perfume when arriving home from late-night meetings in the city. Also, Alma knew because he outwardly told her once while he was beating the side of her face, and there was that fact that she had caught chlamydia twice. The second time it was confirmed that she had contracted it, she also discovered that she was pregnant with Historia and vomited in a nearby wastepin at the thought of baring Rod’s children.

She drank various herbal elixirs that she had been told about in secret by witch doctors. She purposefully tripped down the stairs. She even starved herself. But, Historia was a fighter, Alma would give her that. She was set on being born and came out a healthy, full-term baby. Rod was not bred for fatherhood, his own parents being rather distant themselves, and he was absent for most of Alma’s postpartum period, leaving her utterly alone and depressed with a newborn. Oddly enough, in this time, Alma became fond of Historia. She wouldn’t allow anyone to touch her and demanded that she breastfeed the baby herself without the assistance of a wet nurse. Alma was protective of her. She wanted to save her from Rod’s cruelty.

Unfortunately, as the years came and went and Historia blossomed into a functional, communicative child, Rod, in his way, became aware and fond of Historia as well. Not once did he raise his voice to her or lay a hand on her. He did, however, continue to discipline Alma, many times in Historia’s presence, who would look to her mother in silent terror, in pity, and the resentment that already churned alive and well in her gut infected her vision of Historia as well.

Because Historia was supposed to be hers and somehow Rod had stolen her as well.

-

North Shore, Long Island

October, 1928

-

“You went through my room.”

“If you weren’t keeping secrets then I wouldn’t have to,” Alma responded unsympathetically as she rose from her chair and approached Historia through the french doors, eyeballing the shoes hanging from her fingers. “I know something like that needs to be custom ordered. A real craftsman would charge a fortune you don’t have personally. And I called your father, he said he didn’t pay for them either.”

The last sentence was a lie but Historia’s lack of rebuttal confirmed its legitimacy.

Alma regarded the note in her hand. “It’s signed R.B. Doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to know the B is for that Braun’s Shoes. I believe the first time you visited there was with me.”

It had been several months since then but she remembered. Alma had to accompany Rod to his bank where her attendance was required for a signature. It was fast business. Once Rod had gotten what he needed out of Alma, he dispelled her and Historia away to go shopping and both women traveled up and down the bustling avenues emitting a volatile and awkward atmosphere until they stopped in at a homely-looking shop with “Braun’s Shoes” etched into the wood sign. Historia and Alma browsed along separate sides, but Alma noticed how the strapping young man overseeing the front was fawning over her daughter the second she entered. Historia obliged him well enough but Alma admittedly did not suspect it was reciprocated sincerely and to such a serious degree.

The new shoes, however, and Historia’s recently elevated eagerness to go into the city with her father along with the most damning evidence of all, the note, pieced it all together.

Alma tore it in two.

Historia gasped and reached out to her. “Don’t!”

Her mother discarded the note and the two paper shards floated to the ground. “You are not to see him again.”

“It’s just shoes, momma!”

“You lie,” she spat. “Why else would you jump at every opportunity to go with your father into the city? It was to see him this whole time. That fucking shoemaker-”

“He’s not just a fucking shoemaker!”

As a reflex, Alma struck Historia’s face with the back of her hand. “Watch your own tongue, girl. It’s bad enough I take the brunt of the abuse from your father. I will not stand for you speaking to me foully and I will not stand for you whoring yourself to a lesser man.”

Historia cupped a palm around her reddening cheek but the adrenaline coursing through her veins allowed her to recover swiftly. “Why must you always be so cruel?” she beseeched her desperately. “What have I ever done to you?”

The answer was so simple that it came to Alma’s mind and left her lips without much thought.

“You were born.”

Those three words pierced the air sharper than any blade and drove themselves deep into Historia’s chest, puncturing her heart. Although she should have expected to hear it, she mourned all the same. Mourned the mother she wished she had. The mother that existed only in her deepest imaginations. After a time of pensive silence, Historia rediscovered her voice and the desperation in her tone was replaced with an unwavering resolve to hurt the women before her with the same ferocity.

“You know what, momma? You’re right. I was whoring myself to the shoemaker, but maybe it’s because I have been robbed of affection my entire life. You and father, you created this! When Reiner kisses me, when his hands touch my breast, I feel alive, and it doesn’t feel too bad when the Jaeger boy does it either.”

She ended her statement with an audaciousness that challenged Alma. It chided, “What are you to do now, Alma? What can you do with your limited freedom?” Something she had had been born without, but was lessened even more the day she married Rod. She wondered then, as she had countless times before, why he was so impartial to Historia. Was it because she was beautiful and his lust knew no bounds? Was it because she was sweet and radiant while Alma was bitter and hardened? Was it because he actually loved her and, if so, what had she done to deserve his mercy?

If this world had not been so malicious to her, would Alma have turned out to be as perfect as her daughter?

Contemplating that made her nauseated with sorrow and jealousy. It saddened her to an extent but anger overwhelmed her tenfold. Looking at Historia reminded her of her sisters, of her own mother, of that stupid, idiotic girl who fell in love with the lumber worker and hoped he would save her.

Alma had been crying out for rescue for decades and she realized long ago that no one was coming. No one loved her enough to care.

She went to the closet then where she uncovered the shoebox merely hours before and ripped one of Historia’s pretty dresses from a wire hanger, took the metal in her hands, and turned to the girl. The action had Historia backing away, sensing impending danger. There was a heavy stillness that passed between them where both understood what the other was about to do and when Alma made a move towards her, Historia’s fight response switched on and a commotion ensued.

Alma tried to corner Historia but she leaped onto her bed and jumped to the other side of it so that it served as a barrier between the two. When it appeared as though Alma was about to climb over the bed after her, Historia’s foot shifted to go in the opposite direction to get further away. However, if Alma were to go around the end of the bed, Historia would just leap back to the other side again and bolt out the door. The best and only option was forward and Alma vaulted across the mattress and the instant Historia went to flee, she snatched her by the arm and yanked her backwards. She fell onto the bedcovers and a struggle commenced.

Historia flayed her arms wildly to keep her mother at bay but Alma had managed to get her flipped over on her stomach despite her defenses and she raised that wire hanger and brought it down hard across the back of her legs. The scream that Historia expelled was high, sharp, and excruciating. Alma repeated this over and over. She beat her as her own mother had done. She beat her how she envisioned she would do to Rod someday. She beat the girl who had fantasized of love in hopes that she would die forever. She beat the girl who had never known pain.

Historia’s screams metamorphosed into broken sobs once Alma had ceased her assault after what felt like hours of thrashing. Alma considered her solemnly. Satisfied wasn’t the correct term to describe what she was feeling. She wasn’t certain what it was. Perhaps it was nothing at all and that brought her great disappointment. Nothing meant she was nowhere farther or nearer to anything in particular. She studied Historia a bit longer before tossing the hanger aside and exiting the room, slamming the door shut.

Historia laid there for quite some time, shoulders trembling and body shaking as she cried in fury and in anguish, battling the urge to find her mother and strangle her until she choked and sputtered and breathed no more. And yet she also had the urge to find her and hug her and understand her and beg for her love. She thought of Eren. She thought of Reiner and of him disappearing from her life for certain this time. In the whirlpool of conflicting emotions spinning in her mind, an idea came to Historia that froze her tears and had her sitting up in bed with a newfound determination.

Quietly, she slid off her bed and opened her bedroom door and crept down the hallway to the stairwell where she descended. Once at the bottom, she scanned the adjacent sitting room to confirm that Alma wasn’t loitering about. When he realized that she had most likely gone off to bed or retreated to a more remote corner of the house, Historia ran, barefoot and in her opera dress, outside to the car that still had the keys in the ignition.

She situated herself in the driver’s seat and closed her eyes, recalling the late summer afternoon when Eren had first visited her and taught her how to drive. She turned the key and the engine roared to life and she muttered to herself, hearing his voice instructing her, “Push down on the clutch, shift the gear, release and-”

She felt the familiar sensation of the gears catching under her feet and the car began to inch forward. Self-assured and unafraid, Historia shifted gears a second time, grip tightened on the steering wheel, and sped out of the driveway and raced towards the city.

-

An hour later, the wheels came to a screeching halt in front of the Braun’s Shoes storefront. Historia shut off the car and climbed down from her seat in haste, circling around the headlights and bounding up onto the sidewalk and walked briskly into the alleyway. She winced at the gravel digging into her naked feet but she pressed on until she arrived at the side door and pounded her fist on it insistently until someone answered.

After a whole minute of this disturbance, Reiner fumbled with the lock and opened the door, irritated and drowsy, but his displeasure waned when he looked down and saw, much to his surprise, that it was Historia who was troubling him so late in the night.

“Historia? What in the-?”

He was interrupted by her wrapping her arms around his strong shoulders and kissing him fiercely. Although delirious, Reiner was still a man and having not felt her touch in what seemed like years, his arms encircled her around the waist and pulled her lithe body into his own.

When they parted, he asked her breathlessly, “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

“I drove.”

“You _drove_?”

“Reiner, listen to me,” Historia implored and clutched his bedshirt. “I had a great revelation. My mother. She found the shoes and she knows it was you.” Hearing this, Reiner’s eyes awakened and he went to step out of her hold in apprehension but her grip only tightened and pleaded for him to stay. “No, no, please understand me. She was furious, I’ll admit, and she demanded I never see you again, but the thought of that, the _genuine_ thought of that, made my heart feel like it was breaking in two. Yes, I have affections towards another but I _love_ you. It took me until now to know for certain, but my feelings are true. You must believe that.”

To seal her confession, she pressed her lips against his once again and he kissed her back instinctively, but the fervor was missing.

“Let’s run away.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I have the car. Let’s disappear. Away from this dreadful place. We could go West and be pioneers or we could-”

Reiner stopped her ramblings by gently removing her hands from his shirt but keeping them in his own. “Historia, I don’t want you to give up your life for me and I can’t just leave here. My dad, he’s old. This business is his. I can’t abandon him.”

“So, what do we do then?” she entreated, remaining optimistic.

“I don’t know.”

Dread prickled at the back of her neck when she registered his reply. “You don’t know? All this time in hiding and you never once gave a single thought on how we could be together?”

“I…” Reiner faltered and casted his gaze away from hers ruefully. “...never thought it would happen if I’m being honest.”

“Oh,” was all Historia could manage. A soft sound, barely above a whisper.

Her despair was palpable and Reiner attempted to minimize the damage he had caused. “Historia, it’s not that I don’t want to be with you, but the circumstances are more complicated that you can imagine. Do you really want to trade your life in Long Island to be a shoemaker’s wife?”

“Yes,” she affirmed but with the slightest hint of hesitation at hearing the question prompted to her aloud. It wasn’t missed by Reiner.

“No, you don’t.”

“Who are you to say what I want or don’t want?” she shouted at him. “I’m not a child, Reiner!”

“Wealth is all you’ve ever known and this-” Reiner gestured upwards to the shoe shop, “-is all I’ve ever known. I can’t give you what you need,” he finished evenly and with resolution.

Hopeless tears reappeared and her voice wavered. “What was this, then?” The pensive quiet that exuded from Reiner spoke louder than any response he could have given and she chuckled incredulously as she retreated back to the car. “I am a fool.”

“Historia, please. Don’t drive home this late.”

She didn’t heed his request and made her way to the driver’s side door, yanking it open and hopping inside before slamming it shut. She ignited the engine in a blind rage just as Reiner came out of the alleyway to stop her.

“ _Historia!_ ”

His cries were drowned out by the sound of tires squealing as Historia peeled off down the street.

-

When Historia returned to North Shore, exhausted, mind empty of anything significant, she was met by the sight of policemen in her driveway that were called by her mother who discovered her absence shortly after she had left. In a daze, Historia parked the car, almost completely depleted of gas, before approaching Alma and the uniformed men. They asked her a series of questions that she heard but was unable to process fully and answered them autonomously. Her mother solicited them to not report the incident and, knowing the wealth and power of the Reiss family, agreed and left promptly.

Once they were gone, Alma shoved Historia back up to her room where she locked her inside for several days.

-

In those days, Eren was unsuccessful in getting in contact with Historia. His calls to the house were initially received by servants until the last instance where Alma picked up the phone and bluntly explained that her daughter was unwell and wouldn’t be fit to socialize for a while before hanging up. Left with little options, Eren settled on sending flowers (an idea his mother insisted on) with a small card that wished her an expeditious recovery. Without Historia’s company to fill his time, Eren turned to friends.

Unfortunately since the opera, Eren and Jean had not been on speaking terms with one another. Eren’s unsolicited confessional after stealing Jean away from temple was something that could be properly hidden away. It was only words, afterall. Abstract, massless. A kiss, however, and an eager hand on tightening trousers wasn’t buried as easily. Since then, Eren’s perversions were becoming stronger, more disorienting. Dreams came to him more persistently, demanding that they be heard and seen. They constructed images of his true desires; what he really wanted to happen that night in the bathroom; to drop to his knees and swallow Jean into his mouth until the heat was too much and Jean took him on the sink counter as Erwin Smith had taken that sous chef in the servant’s quarters. Jean or a stranger, he cared not. He wanted to experience it. To feel it.

Instead he would wake up with nothing tactile but frustration and longing and needing to rub himself in bed.

And then, guilt-ridden, he would usually visit Historia.

With her and Jean both being unavailable, Eren found company in Armin. Currently, he was in the Arlert family study, smelling like aged paper and littered with books, maps, and half-completed contraptions. He observed, fascinated by Armin’s mind, as his friend tinkered with a broken gold pocket watch for amusement. Armin sat hunched over the dismantled device, tweezers steady in his fingers as he precisely placed a tiny metal wheel back inside.

It wasn’t a scene that was unfamiliar to Eren. In fact, it reminded him of when they were boys and he would watch in awe as Armin examined, disassembled, and restructured various gadgets or how he would listen intently as Armin explained scientific laws and phenomena detailed in one of those thick hardcover books that laid about in the study.

“I’ll confess,” Armin said to Eren distractedly as he inspected the watch. “I was surprised when I saw it was you knocking at the door today.”

“How so?”

“It just seems like ever since you returned home at the beginning of the summer, you’ve been…" Armin’s eyes flickered over to the lowball glass of gin that sat on the table just in front of Eren before returning his focus back to the task at hand. “...preoccupied with other matters.”

Impervious to his implications and only further proving his point, Eren sipped on his drink, ice clinking together inside the glass. He set it down and propped an elbow up on the table and rested his chin in his upturned palm, looking off sadly. “Have I changed, Armin?”

“You don’t have to say it so dejectedly. We all change.”

“So, that’s a yes.”

Eren traced a finger around the rim of his gin while he teleported back the days spent at St. Maria’s. A montage of warm memories played in his head and he exhaled sharply from his nose as a state of gaiety overcame him. “Do you remember when we put thumbtacks on Monsignor Shadis’s chair?”

Armin smiled endearingly. “Or when we smoked cigarettes outside of chapel and we both turned green?”

Eren laughed outwardly this time. “Look at us now. You’ll be a famous inventor one day and I’ll…” His statement died off as he grappled with what to say next.

“Be married to a Reiss,” Armin completed.

“Yes.”

“Do you plan to propose?”

“I suppose I’ll have to soon.”

Armin sensed the indecisiveness in his tone and tried to reassure him. “She is lovely, Eren. You two will be very happy together.”

Eren smiled at him good-naturedly for the encouragement and carried on in surveying Armin’s operations, reflecting on how he had been a rotten friend as of late and for reasons he wasn’t wholly certain of. Perhaps it was because Armin was everything Eren wanted to be; genuine, a scholar, and true to himself, and being around him made Eren feel a bit envious and low about his own life. Rather than burden him with his own shortcomings, Eren merely pointed to one of the tools Armin was about to grab and asked, “So, what is this one used for?”

-

Ymir couldn’t pinpoint an exact day or time when she had fallen in love with Historia, but she could attest that it was without warning and struck her like white, hot lightning on a humid July day. She had been employed at the Reiss estate for barely two years, so it couldn’t have been before then. It could have been an unextraordinary encounter that sealed her fate. Maybe it was the way Historia always said “please” when addressing the staff or maybe Ymir was out pinning clothes on the line while Historia sat on the terrace and thought her golden hair was doubly brilliant that day. Whatever transpired, what resulted after was undeniable and knowing she could never have her the way she yearned for, Ymir opted instead to be her friend and lady maid.

This indisputably caused her more grief than admiring her in secret from afar. Being a friend meant that Historia entrusted Ymir with her truths and her truths, as it had seemed to Ymir, were that she delighted in being courted by handsome young men and wouldn’t look twice at a gypsy-born maid. In the same regard, being a lady maid allowed Ymir to touch and dress her but not in manners in which she often fantasized about. Everyday ripened fruit dangled from the forbidden tree. To eat it, to taste it, could be poison. It could ruin everything.

And Ymir would rather be Historia’s companion than nothing at all.

So, it brought her immense and profound affliction to see her suffer. Ymir had been with the Reiss’s long enough to understand that their family dynamic was strange and abusive, but never had she witnessed Alma lash out at Historia with such extremity before. Murmurs around the estate were that Lady Historia had been caught in a dubious position with a servant at another household. Another was that Alma had gone mad.

“Her brain's scrambled like that Carla Jaeger. I know a kitchen maid that used to work there-”

The spreading gossip made Ymir sick, but nothing made her sicker than when she would walk up to Historia’s bedroom with a balanced tray to serve her food or to prepare her a bath, the only two things she was permitted to do for her per orders from Alma Reiss, and see the heiress plunged into misery. Historia laid in bed from dawn until dusk, covers drawn over her shoulders, hair uncombed, and staring crestfallen out at the lake beyond. Even when Ymir entered her line of vision to place breakfast or dinner on her bedside table, she had nothing worthwhile to say.

The only instance where Historia had communicated to her during those agonizing days was when the solitude started to chip away at her resolve and she reached out from the bed and took Ymir’s hand, squeezing it in her own. “Please, Ymir. I want to go,” she had said.

The resonance in her voice was beyond torment and it frightened her. Ymir bent down at her bedside and squeezed her hand in return, smoothing out her hair with the other, as an unspoken promise that she would get better. She must get better. Ymir was ashamed to admit that she may have even taken advantage of Historia’s wretched situation. It created an opening where she dared to press her lips against her forehead, her skin warm and heavenly.

Like a beacon on a foggy shore, Historia leaned into that fading light.

-

Isolation bred mediation for Historia and she reviewed the events of her life with crystal clear comprehension. She dissected everything, leaving no stone unturned. A conclusion she arrived at rather quickly was that she did not hate her mother - not now nor ever. In truth, Historia grieved for her and criticized her own self for never possessing the bravery to stand up against her father. Although Rod didn’t treat Historia with the same hostility as he did Alma, there was always an untrusting foulness in the air that told Historia that the tides could turn any day against her favor, stirring up an unhealthy fear of him that kept her silent when he would brutalize his wife. Recognizing this, Historia deduced that she and Alma were a lot closer than they had originally thought.

She also realized that she didn’t hate Reiner, either, and that she had expected too much out of a world that provided very little. Nothing he had said to her that night after the opera had been a lie. When faced with the actual notion of trading riches for poverty, she hesitated. She claimed so adamantly that she needed to escape, that she had loved Reiner more than Eren, but for what reason exactly? If she asked herself honestly, was she only impartial to Reiner purely because he wasn’t Eren? Because Eren resided in the same world that bore and raised her while Reiner existed outside of it? Perhaps it wasn’t so black and white. Perhaps she wasn’t as true as she convinced herself she was.

And lastly there was Eren who she determined admired her for the wrong reasons as well. She recalled their interactions with intense scrutiny. How at the opera house him and Jean, in their drunkenness, grew closer and regarded each other with a discernible lust. She could identify it as such because he often looked at her in a similar fashion, but not with quite the same ferociousness. Ironically, it would seem that Eren was using Historia as she had used Reiner. To convince himself of a life he thought he wanted. Historia, again, could not hate him for it.

In the wake of these revelations, her planet of make-believe flattened into a cold desert and shrouded her in darkness where happiness was lost and unattainable, where everything would remain as is, that nothing tangible offered a real escape. In that darkness, in that absolute night, she sat up in her bed for the first time in days and looked out to the lake with calculating purpose.

Historia rose to her feet and circled around the foot of the bed to reach her bedroom door. As she passed by her vanity, she picked up a stray bobby pin. Crouching down on her knees, she inserted the pin into the lock and jimmied it around until it clicked free. She softly pushed it open and straightened herself back up to her feet and went down the stairwell, slowly and deliberately, step-by-step, until she was inside the main sitting room. She envisioned her mother tucked into the sofa on a spring day, windows open and curtains dancing in the wind, as she read one of her books. She saw her and Eren out on the terrace, sharing laughter and a pitcher of lemonade. She reimagined herself as a young girl running in and out of the furniture. She remembered Christmas parties, business meetings, footman and maids scurrying about, and her mother putting on her cashmere coat with the fur collar and cuffs on evenings where she attended functions with Rod in the city.

It all got twisted and burned up like nitrate film, revealing Alma weeping on the floor as Rod bruised her body, a maid shielding Historia’s eyes.

Historia found herself in front of an opened closet by the sitting room that housed the cashmere coat. She admired it on its hanger, her hand brushing it delicately. Truthfully, she had always loved this coat. In a different life where her and Alma could have lived in peace she wondered if she would have let her borrow it.

Historia stole the coat off the rack and slipped her arms inside and adjusted it over her shoulders before leaving through one of the french doors. The outside breeze enveloped her in a chilly embrace and the scent and sounds of the lake beckoned her to it. She ambled down to the beach, grass tickling her toes until it transformed into sand. She approached the waterline and reached down to scoop up a handful of stones. At first, she let them cascade from her palm, analyzing them almost, before sticking both hands deep into the rocks and stuffed them inside the pockets of her mother’s cashmere coat, filling them to the brim. When they weighed her down sufficiently, Historia rose for the last time and walked into the water with her clothes on.

The water was frigid and a gasp eluded her, but she pushed on, no moonlight to guide her as she waded deeper and deeper into the black water, feeling it raise up around her body, slowly encompassing her. The calmness she experienced was strange and indescribable.

The stones succeeded in cumbering her down. The water was at her chin and she knew only a couple more steps and she would be submerged, never to return to the surface again. Absurdly enough, she thought of Alma. When they found her body, bloated and drowned, would she cry? Would she love her then?

Before Historia took that last step, a hand grasped her by the back of her coat collar and pulled her away from the black horizon. Her trance shattered, the spell broken, and she looked over her shoulder to see Ymir submerged up to her chest, soaked to the bone, but not shivering at all. Historia was so far away in another realm that she hadn’t heard Ymir disturbing the water behind her and shouting her name.

“Ymir?”

Water splashed as Ymir’s wet hands grabbed Historia’s face, her eyes frantic. “Are you stupid? Why are you out here? I was calling for you! Why would you-” She stopped for a moment as a bleak awakening overtook her. If she had been minutes later, if she had not been awake in the kitchen to hear her footsteps, she would have never seen this face full of color again and Ymir’s throat strained under the weight of it. “Why would you do that? Why?”

Witnessing Ymir’s normally composed disposition crumble away into something scared and desperate, to see the hurt behind her eyes and the mistiness it ushered forth, caused Historia to begin to cry as well.

“I don’t know,” she said weakly, lips quivering from more than the cold. “I don’t know, Ymir. It’s all too much. It’s always been too much.”

Ymir, not knowing what else to do for her, hugged her tight to her chest as if she were the most precious thing on Earth. “Don’t go yet, sweet girl. Please don’t go.”

At that instant, Historia made her true and final realization. One that she had missed entirely and was the most obvious of them all.

That Ymir had loved her.

Absorbing this and feeling her embrace, Historia wrapped her arms around her and sobbed violently. “I can’t be here a second longer. I’ll die here.”

“Then let’s go,” Ymir whispered into her damp hair.

-

A day later, Rod Reiss received a phone call from Alma that had him back in New York from Pennsylvania in four hours and at the Jaeger household by the next nightfall. It was quite the shock for all of them to see not only Rod but Alma at their door during the middle of supper time, both appearing grave and without Historia. Eren immediately became concerned about Historia’s well-being due to the urgency of their visit and assumed the worst when Rod requested that they sit down somewhere private.

“Missing?” Eren blurted out once the news had been broken to them.

“Yes,” Rod confirmed. “I felt it necessary to tell you all in person. It would appear that our Historia fled off in the night. It wasn’t an abduction. A suitcase and clothes were missing.” Rod’s eyes diverted away, muttering, “And one of our maids.”

Carla turned to Grisha then with her hand on her mouth in disbelief.

“She left no notes, no letters,” Rod continued as Alma remained silent next to him, her expression unreadable. “God knows where she is, but we will be looking for her.” At that declaration, he dug into his suit pocket and removed a sealed envelope and offered it to Eren. “For you, son.”

Eren took the envelope and tore it open with reluctance, feeling his mother trying to discreetly peer over at the contents inside. A check was pulled out and Eren’s eyes widened considerably at the number written on it.

_Ten thousand dollars._

He promptly gave it back. “I can’t take this.”

Rod held up a hand, insisting he keep it. “This is an embarrassment on the Reiss family name that we wish to keep to a minimum. The check is for your heartache and for your discretion.”

The finality in his tone had Eren tucking the check into his own suit pocket uncomfortably.

Rob then took the liberty to speak to the Jaeger family as a whole. “I apologize for any embarrassment this may have caused you all as well.”

“It’s not an issue, sir,” Eren replied automatically.

Rod nodded and with nothing further to add and no desire to discuss the topic any longer than required, he stood up to leave, lightly tapping Alma to follow as she appeared adrift in her own reveries. Grisha was the one to see them to the door while Carla put a supportive hand on Eren’s back as he sat in the parlor with his mind reeling as to why Historia would disappear without saying anything to anyone.

Without saying anything to him.

When Grisha had returned, signaling that the Reiss family had left, Carla could finally shriek, “Christ Almighty! Where could she have gone?”

-

_Somewhere out West..._

-

A steam whistle blew high and loud, stirring Historia from her slumber. The light bouncing of the train car had lulled her to sleep and she awoke to Ymir sitting across from her, gazing out the window while dressed in a plain skirt and white blouse. It had been an adjustment seeing her out of uniform. When adorn in normal clothes, at one with society, Ymir acquired a new aura and took her true shape as a tall, powerful, and freckled-faced woman, kissed by the sun.

When she heard Historia rustling awake, Ymir broke away from the scenery. “Good morning.” She jerked her head towards the window. “Take a look at what you missed.”

As suggested, Historia peaked out the thin curtain and was greeted by massive, hazy, purple mountains out in the distance and open fields of dandelions and wildflowers where the deer, foxes, and bears reigned freely under a bright blue sky. None of it looked real. The beauty took Historia’s breath away. She hurriedly unlocked the window and pulled it down and stuck her head out of the moving train, hair whipping about as she stared in astonishment at the gloriousness of God’s creation. Overwrought with joy, she howled and screamed to the wild.

Ymir decided to join in on her jubilation, opening her own window and shouting into the wind. They laughed and inhaled the fresh air and began singing “America The Beautiful” much to the annoyance of their fellow passengers. Unfortunately, they couldn’t have given less of a damn.

“Oh beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain,” Ymir started.

Historia swept her arm out to the Rocky Mountains ahead. “For purple mountain majesties above the fruited plains!”

And then they came together in harmony right before a train officer demanded that they stop, giggling as they bellowed, “America, America, God shed his grace on thee! He crowned thy good in brotherhood from sea to shining sea!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BE FREE, MY SWEET HISTORIA! 
> 
> Ugh, I hate to say goodbye to this beautiful character, but alas this was always meant to be her fate. Historia is too good for this world, too pure, and deserves all the happiness in the world. I’ll tie things up some more next chapter, but for the most part, Historia will not be returning in any significant way (at least that I know of for now). 
> 
> We started this story with many relationships going on. Erwin and Levi’s ongoing secret relationship. Eren and Historia’s courtship. Eren’s still confusing/semi-relationship with Jean. But guess what? They have all been slowly and surely moved out of the picture to lead up to the next chapter. What you’ve all been waiting for. The big moment. 
> 
> Eren and Levi physically interacting. 
> 
> It’s full steam ahead, baby. I am excited.


End file.
